


The Nobleman and the Sword

by Winterwolke



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Falling In Love, Healer!Misha, M/M, Nobleman!Jared, Sword!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterwolke/pseuds/Winterwolke
Summary: Every noble gets to choose their Sword. They use them to fight, empowered by their very own magic. Jared lost his Sword. He couldn't control his magic and accidentally killed his trusted one. He lives a reclusive life in a secluded keep, far away form the arduous intrigues the other nobles play to gain power and wealth. He has sworn to never pick a Sword again, no matter how direly his kingdom might need him.But there is a prophecy, and Jared doesn't know yet that prophecies sometimes come true.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romachebella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romachebella/gifts).



> This is my second year participating in the Big Bang. This story gave me great headaches and made me procrastinate so much that I actually wrote 15k words on May 1st to make the deadline. Yay to all the procrastinators out there.
> 
> Special thanks to aggiedoll, who is not only a great artist, but thankfully speaks German, which made talking about art so much easier. Or, well... most of the time I told her "I don't know, you are the artist!" Ganz vielen Dank für die liebe Unterstützung! :*
> 
> You find her art here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241986  
> Please leave her some love, she deserves it!
> 
> Also, many thanks to my betas Moonleaf, who had the pleasure to read it first, knight_bus_of_doom, who did an amazing job on the way, and Cherun, who made it through in record time because I couldn't be arsed to finish on time.
> 
> Specials thanks go out to wendy, who did an exceptional job just like last year (and the year before and before and before....). You are amazing for managing us lunatics and we can't thank you enough!

__

The Great Hall was a chaos of smells, colors, and voices. Today was the annual selection day. Nobles from everywhere gathered at the Monastery, coming from the smallest barony to the largest kingdom to choose their Sword. 

Jensen searched for a dark shock of hair--Chris was down there observing the selection. He was a year older than Jensen and it would be his turn in a years time to go with a nobleman. Only the older youths were allowed to attend the ceremony; the younger ones, like Jensen, hadn’t even the permission to come near the Great Hall. Though Jensen was a prime example of obedience, something had pulled him here. If the boy had known what fate was, he might have said it was Inanna who had led him astray, but he didn’t know, so he had no explanation for his indecorum. Just the urge to be present, to see, hear, smell and feel the atmosphere of this sacred ceremony. He was high above in the ceiling beams, anxious to stay hidden from wandering eyes, knowing he would be disciplined severely if he got caught. His heart was beating frantically and his sweaty hands tried not to lose their grip on the smooth wood as he peered over the edge, down to the organized chaos.

Jensen couldn’t make out Chris, couldn’t really see many details of the faces below him and he was slightly disappointed that his efforts were in vain. Besides the ever-present risk to get caught, it had been dangerous to climb up here, and it was all for naught. He was about to inch back on the beam, make his retreat when the deafening silence in the Great Hall made him pause. 

A man had entered the Hall, and though it seemed impossible from this distance, Jensen could see him clear as day. The most remarkable thing about him was his eyes. They were mesmerizing. An undefined color between blue, green and brown that were slightly slanted, like fox eyes. The pull he had felt since this morning grew absurdly stronger with every breath, every blink of his eyes, even as Jensen tried not to blink. Every second he couldn’t look at the man seemed wasted and pointless. He wanted to be down there, get near the man, maybe even touch him. That thought shocked and embarrassed him. Never in his fifteen years had he had such an appalling thought, such an unnatural urge to be with someone. He shouldn’t think like this, but Jensen couldn’t help himself. His eyes followed the man as he made his way down the stone stairs. The crowd seemed to part for him and Jensen never lost sight of him, his gaze glued to the giant that towered over the assembled horde with his brown hair and broad shoulders. He wore a brown jerkin and dark leather trousers, plain colors that only set him apart from everyone else. The nobles were clothed in their best attire, colorful and pompous, but they were invisible to Jensen. In his simple clothes, the man stood out like a single candle in a dark cellar, the only flower surrounded by thorns. He searched the clothes for a hint on where the man was from, which house he was born in and with excitement he finally found the colors of the Padalecki.

Murmurs then reached his ears, scarcely audible, but he heard the most important part. Jared. The man’s name was Jared of Padalecki. It was a name Jensen would never forget. 

The ceremony finally began, but all he saw was the man, Jared. Neat lines of Swords and Noblemen were formed and finally Abbot Julian stepped forward to begin the ceremony. Jared’s name wafted through the air and he stepped forward, determination his only expression. He fixed his gaze on the ranks of Swords gathered there, the ones that were to be sent away to serve their Nobleman. He paced up and down the row twice, searching for something in the faces of Jensen’s brethren and sisters but it seemed he couldn’t find it. The boy saw him frowning, contemplating something before Jared suddenly raised his head to stare directly in Jensen’s eyes. 

He was pinned to his spot high above the hall, unable to move a single muscle. Those eyes were looking right at his soul, laying bare everything Jensen didn’t even know himself, telling Jared everything voluntarily. There was a shift on that beautiful face, a shadow of some sort, disgust, and it turned Jensen’s guts to ice. Jared of Padalecki had seen right into him and he hadn’t liked what he saw. The light of the world around him dimmed to a point where every color became different inflections of gray. 

Time stood still high up in the ceiling beams. The selection was forgotten, overshadowed by the devastation flowing through Jensen’s veins, poisoning his thoughts, shattering his beliefs. He contemplated what it all meant. 

He might not have seen Jared of Padalecki before, but he knew of the family. One of the three Great Houses, second in hierarchy, just below the House of the Overlord himself. Next to the Padaleckis, there were the Ackles’ and the Morgans. The noblemen descending from those houses were the first to choose their Sword. Even so, the same families had to give one of their children to the Monastery, as it was a tradition for every noble family to offer their second-born children to serve as a Sword. Who knew which of his brethren and sisters had a noble lineage?

The Padalecki were powerful magic wielders and the favorites of the Overlord. Every Sword they selected would count themselves lucky. They were known as honorable nobles, fearless in battle and friendly towards the unfortunate. Being chosen by them was a great honor and only the Swords most pure in body and soul could ever hope to follow their call.   
Maybe because he was so powerful, Jared of Padalecki had been able to see inside of Jensen and uncover his flaws, the stains on his soul. Had seen that Jensen, despite his hard work and dedication to the order, wasn’t worthy of being a chosen Sword. He had sneaked into the selection even though it was strictly forbidden, had intruded in the most holy of ceremonies.. He had disobeyed his masters and defiled the meaning of their order. He felt bad, unworthy. Tears sprang to his eyes in the wake of this revelation, this judgment of character. Desperation momentarily robbed him of his sight, robbed his ability to think. The proceedings commenced as Jensen fought to find his composure, to see the light again after everything of importance was lost to the overwhelming darkness that single look had caused within his soul. 

This couldn’t be it, couldn’t be all he was! Jensen had to believe that there was hope for him. He needed to believe he could better his wayward character, could correct his failures. Maybe this sick pull to be here, to witness what was forbidden, had been entirely there to show him where he went wrong. He could change, could do better. He knew where he lacked certain skills. He knew his spirit was weak.

Replaying the moment in his mind’s eye over and over again, Jensen climbed down the beams. The disgust twisting that beautiful face made him feel burning shame, as it would during countless sleepless nights in the future. Something was different now, he felt it. Something was broken, but he could put it together again. He could find the true meaning of being a Sword again. And maybe then a man like Jared of Padalecki would look at him and see a pure, dedicated warrior and not someone who provoked revulsion.

***

Chris was excited, but the feeling was beaten by the slight nausea and the huge lump of anxiety clogging his throat, making breathing almost impossible. The Great Hall was swarmed with people, more than he had ever seen before. That didn’t mean a thing, since he had spent his whole life at the Monastery, sheltered his whole life from the world outside. As the second born to some unknown nobleman, Chris was one of the chosen ones, a precious Sword. Or the cursed ones, depending on whom you asked. Life so far had been an endless succession of physical training, spiritual services, magical studies and every other boring subject you could imagine. While the raw side of things, the fighting and the magic, was exciting to Chris, endless hours of studying dusty codices were not. Most of the Swords tried to immerse themselves in their studies as best as they could - their lives depended on their training, after all - but few of them took the whole religious thing seriously. 

It was a tradition older than any of the old masters could remember to send second-born children to the Monastery, regardless of their social status. For all Chris knew, he could have been sparring with the son of the Overlord himself, but it didn’t matter to them. Nobody knew their family or their ancestors, all they knew was this.   
And just like normal kids, some of them rebelled against their lot in life. Some missed lessons on purpose, some made it their mission to disturb the studying whenever they could. In the end, it was all futile. They soon realized what it meant to be chosen, to be a Sword. They understood who depended on them and what burden rested on their shoulders, even at their young age. Eventually, they were all dedicated to their calling. Everyone finally got chosen as a Sword, one way or another.

This year it was Chris’ turn to leave the Monastery and dedicate his sword and life to a nobleman, though he prayed it was a woman. Although a Sword could have physical relations with anyone he or she chooses, it was not uncommon for a Sword and their noble to get physically involved, and his brethren just didn’t do it for Chris.   
Swords were forbidden to have physical relations with anybody while in training at the Monastery because they needed to keep their minds, bodies and magic pure for their noble. Friendship was the most they could hope for, and any misconduct would mean punishment from their masters. 

Which meant, in fact, that everybody was fucking like bunnies. That fairytale of pureness was just that - a fairytale. The rules were designed to prevent them from forming bonds with the other children. They would always part in the end, maybe even one day face each other on the battleground, each of them fighting for the enemy. Very few had the luck to fight for the same side. Developing feelings for a sister or brethren always caused problems for everyone involved. Still, that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy themselves.

Chris looked around, finding Jensen among the Swords that would watch the ceremony in preparation for their own next year. He was the only one not engaged in any conversation, leaning against the far wall, observing the scene silently and with a grim face. It was a far cry from the happy, lively boy he’d been only a couple years ago. Since that ceremony, Jensen had changed, and not exactly in pleasant ways. He was a paragon for their studies, a fierce warrior and the perfect vessel for magic, but that was it. There was nothing else there anymore. He didn’t engage in other activities, didn’t join the other Swords on the rare days they were allowed to leave the Monastery, avoided any conversation that wasn’t about their studies or fighting techniques.   
It was a shame, really. Jensen had been an outgoing kid, friendly to everyone even if he was a bit shy in the beginning. He was good company, helping others without expecting anything in return. He was Chris’ best friend, even if Chris didn’t know if it was still true.

Chris was ripped from his musings when somebody stepped beside him.

“Sword Christian, right? I am Joshua of Ackles.”

Chris looked at the man who had spoken to him. The piercing green eyes were the most prominent feature. He was just a few years older than Chris himself and he could still see the delicate features of youth, mixed with the sharp angles of a skilled and tested warrior. Joshua was known to be a strong and fair leader, but had been unlucky recently. His former Sword, Damian, had died in the Battle of Arkina. The Ackles’ troops had lost a horrendous number of warriors and a huge part of their territory in the neutral provinces far east to the House of Morgan. Even though the Swords didn’t know what each and every member of nobility looked like, it was vital to study recent events and the progress of the war. It was important to know the most important names and the causes they fought for. It would be Chris’ fight soon enough.

“Yes, sire. How can I be of service?”

Joshua of Ackles came around, facing him. He had his left hand on the sword hanging at his hip, his stance relaxed, but Chris could see the hypervigilance in his gaze, the tension in his muscles, ready to strike if the need arose. Behind him, just barely in Chris’ line of sight stood Jensen, still not moving or talking, observing the scene. He could see the same tension in his posture, the same piercing green looks he shot around the Hall. The same eyebrows, nose and lips. Chris’ eyes widened in disbelief. Fuck.

As he looked back into the older version of his friend’s face, he saw the truth of his discovery. 

“Tell me, Christian, what is life like for a Sword?” His voice was low, almost a murmur to not raise attention. As if they shouldn’t have this conversation - and maybe they really shouldn’t. When sent to the Monastery, a child was cleaned of his or her past, family bonds severed. The only family they had were themselves, and even that only lasted a few years before the masters encouraged them to separate. There was no use for loyalty to a family you didn’t know, because you could be chosen by anyone. Even the Overlord himself had delivered a child to the order, and they could’ve been picked by the lowest Laird that had ever entered the Hall. The only thing that counted was how powerfully the noble could wield his magic and how perceptive and able the Sword was to use it in battle.

Joshua of Ackles left Chris’ line of sight to settle again next to him, both looking at the far wall. Jensen looked uncomfortable among his fellow brethren, his head turning to all sides, like he knew somebody was watching him. He never saw Joshua of Ackles looking him over, never saw the silent question in his eyes that revealed the true nature of his question. Now Chris understood why this conversation had to be held in hushed voices.

“Until two years ago it was good. He was a bit shy but friendly, easily making friends. Everyone liked him. But then that year, after the ceremony, he changed. There’s just his studies, the physical training, strengthening his magic. If anyone tries to engage him in something besides the cause, he gets angry, telling people off for distracting him. He buries himself in the library or in our cell, under books thicker than my arm.”

“What happened at the ceremony two years ago?”

“I don’t know. A few days after the selection he was punished by our masters for disobedience, though no one ever knew what for. Ever since then he has been like this. Just, I don’t know, cold. Empty. I’m sorry, sire.”

They both stood contemplating what had been admitted in secret. Something had settled over them, a bubble of silence in the sea of mingled voices. A feeling of companionship.

“I’m gonna choose you”, Joshua suddenly said, still not looking at Chris. He had heard this tone many times when Jensen spoke, calm determination, and he could imagine the same expression on Joshua’s face. “You’re one of the best, you have excellent skills and you were recommended to me by your masters.”

Chris sensed there was another reason, something Joshua wouldn’t offer freely. They had something in common, a connection, still new and delicate, but more than other nobles and swords shared. They had Jensen.

Chris felt a minute pang of regret. Joshua of Ackles definitely wasn’t a woman.

***

It was the third time Jensen witnessed the annual selection ceremony and he was glad it would be the last. No matter what happened after he left the Monastery, he would never come back. While a nobleman who lost their Sword in battle would be allowed to pick a new one, the same couldn’t be said for the Swords. If their noble died, it could have only two reasons: The noble died of old age or of sickness. 

It wasn’t a nice death, but honorable. It meant the Sword had done everything in their power, but they couldn’t battle nature herself. Most families would allow those men and women to go on living with them, having a valued position at their household. Most of them chose to be mentors, having fought many successful battles, or they chose to reinforce the troops as regular soldiers. 

What all of them feared most, however, was their noble falling in battle. It meant the Sword had failed the only person they were supposed to protect. Such a failure could be punished by death, even though most Swords couldn’t bear the shame and the loss and followed their noble in the afterlife. Those were never spoken of again, not even to point out their wrongdoings. They didn’t deserve to even be thought about.

For almost three years now, Jensen lived with the fear of such a failure. Ever since the piercing stare of Jared of Padalecki had pierced his heart and soul he had worked hard to be better, stronger, purer. He needed to be the perfect companion for whoever saw fit to choose him, and he wouldn’t allow himself any leeway in his studies. Ever since Chris had gone with Joshua of Ackles, Jensen had nothing to distract him from the training. Nobody insisted he took a break or participated in the activities the other Swords liked. He stayed away from each temptation and had developed a deep aversion to anything that even faintly indicated leisure. His fellow brethren and sisters eyed him warily when he brooded over another thick tome of magical history, but at this point he didn’t even care. He had achieved what he set out to be three years ago. He was the best swordsman residing at the Monastery, he knew everything about military tactics, knew how to use his very own magic to the maximum. His austerity even made him a better person. He wasn’t tempted anymore by his brethren, could easily deflect their attempts to lure him out of his cell and join their adventures, he even mastered his own body. He was the perfect vessel for his noble’s magic, clean in spirit and soul, healthy and strong.

However, being faced with the chaos of the selection was something he wasn’t prepared for and only the tight rein on his emotions made him appear unconcerned. The Great Hall was buzzing with people from around the three kingdoms and rumor had it that even King Jeffrey and Princess Megan were here. 

Jensen felt eyes on him, burning into his back, boring into his soul. The looks he received were strange, dark, something Jensen did not want to scrutinize more closely. It made his skin crawl and his leather vest stick to his sweat-soaked undergarments. It should have been the biggest moment of his life, his greatest accomplishment, but deep down Jensen was terrified. Whoever chose him to be their Sword would lead him into battle and he would have to face other Swords, fight and kill them. While he hadn’t formed a bond to any of his brethren or sisters, he was afraid that one day he would have to confront one of them. He knew he would have to fight them, he was bound to his noble and the house they were fighting for, but ultimately he wasn’t sure he could do it. What if his opponent was Chris? He had heard of the great victories Joshua of Ackles and Christian had celebrated, how they had managed to win back most of the eastern provinces they had previously lost, and had even managed to decimate King Jeffrey’s troops by a considerable amount. King Jeffrey’s Sword Justin had been wounded mortally by Chris, which was why the King was now present. As any high leader, he was allowed to choose anew whenever his Sword was killed. In fact, he was infamous for picking a new Sword each and every year. Very few had lasted longer than a year in his company, some of them dying under suspicious circumstances. 

Even though Jensen knew his thoughts and fears wouldn’t matter if King Jeffrey chose him and that he had a duty to fulfill, but he couldn’t help feeling insecure and revolted. He didn’t want to go with Jeffrey, whose participation in the war was caused by his greed for power and money. He didn’t want to rule the other kingdoms because he saw an injustice in the way the people were treated, but because he wanted more than he already had. More land, more gold, more servants, more of everything and Jensen just couldn't understand such motives. Naturally the Ackles’ and Padaleckis had started their own campaign against King Jeffrey, a feud that had lasted more than thirty years and continued to this day. The days around the selection ceremony were the only peaceful time in the endless conflict between the most powerful houses. It allowed for everyone to come and go unharmed, regardless of which far corner the nobles were calling home.

Despite the swelter in the Great Hall, Jensen shuddered when he felt the presence of another person far too close for his comfort. He felt the heavy breath brushing the soft hairs in the back of his neck, the heat of another body in his personal space. He itched to move away, to leave altogether, but Jensen knew his place and role in life, and stood still while the heavy footsteps moved around him. He finally came face to face with whom he had dreaded most: King Jeffrey.

While Jensen had never seen him in person, it was unmistakably the ruler of House Morgan. He was an imposing man, taller than Jensen and a heavy, but not bulky build. He was clothed in the finest fur cloak Jensen had ever seen, but underneath he wore a practical leather vest and trousers, high-shafted, sturdy boots, fit for a warrior. His sword, Torment, was low on his hip, whipping with every step. He had heard rumors about King Jeffrey, that he liked to let his Sword fight for him, but always claimed the right to deal the death blow. It was said he revelled in barbaric traditions such as the Droit du seigneur, loved to watch his enemies tortured and gave his soldiers free reign to plunder, maim, kill and commit acts of violence whenever they sacked a settlement. The people lived in fear of him, as he was known as a cruel king, unforgiving and brutal.

Jensen didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to acknowledge the man, but he knew he had no choice. He couldn’t hide from any of them and he was trained to fulfill his duty. If King Jeffrey wanted him as his Sword, he would have no choice but to follow the call. When his eyes finally met the cold hazel he barely suppressed a shudder. Something was wrong with those eyes. They were not only vigilant and wary, suited for a seasoned warrior, but they fixated on him with an emotion he couldn’t explain. The man smiled somewhat malicious as he raked his gaze over Jensen’s body, up and down, like he wanted to see what was hidden underneath his clothes. Maybe to gauge Jensen’s physical abilities? He didn’t know, and the crawling sensation under his skin grew while he was rooted to the spot, unable to move away from King Jeffrey and not allowed to.

He knew the magical bond between noble and Sword protected him from any harm he could suffer at the hands of his noble, and while he never before had understood the importance - he was suddenly glad it was there. The magic prevented any violent acts between the two parties, as it rendered the bond useless. The noble would lose the connection, wouldn’t be able to wield his magic to enhance the Sword in battle. Without the bond, both were just ordinary fighters, falling an easy victim to the empowered fighters. It was seen as a huge disgrace to the one who broke the bond. Swords were likely to be executed, while nobles were forbidden to ever take another Sword into their service. There were still incidents when one or the other commited a crime against his bonded partner, but those were heavily punished as an example for everyone else. Jensen didn’t think King Jeffrey would jeopardize his power and standing by such vile behavior, but he couldn’t be sure, since he only knew what was publically known. What man Jeffrey was in private, the side of him only his wife, closest friends and his Sword would see, that was unknown to all of them. It didn’t diminish his fears, but he firmly told himself to hold it together, to not show his insecurity. He was a Sword and he ought to act like it.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sword Jensen. Your masters speak highly of you and the other Swords look up to you as we speak. You are said to be the most successful novice of the order, and any noble could count themselves lucky if they were to pick you.”

Jensen swallowed the huge lump in his throat. He had feared as much, had hoped it would be different. Ever since that fateful day, Inanna hadn’t looked upon him with favor. The goddess of luck had long forsaken him, ever since his eyes had found Jared of Padaleckis. It would be just right to be bound to a man like King Jeffrey.

“Thank you, King Jeffrey.”

The man’s eyes twinkled with delight, a very bizarre expression, since it didn’t lessen the coldness or the cruel streak Jensen saw in them. He hadn’t introduced himself, and it irked Jensen that he obviously thought he was important and known enough not to do so when common courtesy demanded it. They spoke of nothing else. All the while, the searching eyes of the king travelled along Jensen’s body. He was shaking with disgust, barely concealing it from the unforgiving eyes that searched for a sign of weakness. Breathing became a chore and the man still wouldn’t let it go. Almost like he was testing Jensen’s will to endure. It was a battle he was trained to win, but with this particular opponent, he didn’t want to.

Finally there was salvation in the form a cheerful female voice.

“My, King Jeffrey, it seems like you found a worthy adversary to fight your staring battles. Unfortunately, you monopolize the precious time of Sword Jensen and there are more people who would like to exchange words with him.”

A woman, tall and beautiful, clothed in the traditional colors of House Padalecki appeared out of the sea of nobles and came to a halt directly beside King Jeffrey. She had a sword of her own, a bit shorter than King Jeffrey’s Torment, but perfectly suited for a woman in arms. With a start Jensen realized that it was Megan of Padalecki, Princess of the Padalecki kingdom and younger sister of Jared of Padalecki.

Of course he had heard of the tragedy the siblings had gone through. Jared was only the second born child to King Gerald and Queen Sherri and already living with the order when Jeff, the first born son, was killed in the Battle of Quenlan. As was the law, the second born child would be taken back to the parents if the older sibling died and no other siblings were already born. So Jared had left the order, barely out of his swaddling clothes, to be heir to the Padalecki kingdom. He had come back when he reached his adolescence to choose a Sword amongst his former brethren and had picked James, a burly fighter and excellent strategist. They were successful in battle and achieved victory after victory until one fateful day the strain of Jared’s magic had become too much for James to bear and he died. Jared of Padalecki supposedly never took on another Sword. In fact, he was said to have vanished into exile.

It was all a wild assortment of rumors, of course, but the fact remained that James was dead and Jared of Padalecki was lost to the world. It had broken Jensen’s heart the tiniest bit when he heard of it, mourning the loss of a good brother and the loss of a warrior as fierce and successful as Jared.

“Dear Sword Jensen, I am Megan of Padalecki, third born child and heiress to the throne of House Padalecki. Your masters speak highly of you. You are said to be a good fighter, an excellent strategist and a remarkable user of magic. I wish to make you my companion, since I think you are best suited to represent the values House Padalecki stands for. It would be my honor to welcome you to the Padalecki family as my Sword.  
What say you, Jensen?”

For a moment Jensen was too overwhelmed to think clearly. Princess Megan proposed to take him on as her trusted Sword, her ally for life, his to protect against everyone who sought to harm her. He clearly remembered the look of disgust Jared had given him all these years ago, remembered feeling inadequate and unworthy. To have her, heiress to the most noble of Houses, ask his permission was almost unbelievable. He barely swallowed the thick lump in his throat and simply nodded his consent. It would be an unbelievable honor, indeed. Years and years of mercilessly pushing himself to his limits, sometimes beyond exhaustion and common sense were now rewarded by the highest gift Inanna could offer him. Maybe she hadn’t forsaken him at all.

Megan looked best pleased with his answer while King Jeffreys eyes grew hard and furious. He was downright eerie, his good mood now gone and Jensen could see the hard edge that made him infamous, the unforgiving wrath he displayed when something didn’t go the way it was planned. 

“You might excuse the impertinence of this young lady, but it’s only natural that we connect. Look at us, with your skills and my magic we can achieve greatness. What can this child give you except a short life span?”

Princess Megan clucked in displeasure, but she didn’t take the bait Jeffrey was clearly laying thick. It impressed Jensen that she, despite her young age, didn’t budge, didn’t bat an eye but just ignored the king like he was any commoner. She was barely fifteen, but proud and strong, and he found himself longing for her trust.

Jensen had heard all about the ease with which the Padaleckis gained the love and faith of their followers. They prized their warriors and treated their Swords with the utmost respect. Their rule was fair and gracious and they inspired the same feelings in every one of their subjects. As was commonplace with the Padaleckis, Megan had won his heart and arm in a second with her forceful will and the easy smile she granted him for just a moment.

They chatted amicably, something Jensen didn’t think he had in him, but she made it so easy for him. Megan told him about the war, about her homeland, about the things they were going to do when she chose him. King Jeffrey was fuming, but neither paid attention to him and he stalked away, a muttered curse sharply disturbing their quiet conversation.

Jensen finally mustered the courage to ask her the important question that swirled around his head for the last few minutes.

“Mylady, how can you be sure that this will all come to pass?”

“Don’t worry, my Sword. Do you know who had the honor to choose last year?”

“It was Joshua of Ackles.”

“And the year before?”

Jensen didn’t know, hadn’t known anything else except for Jared of Padalecki and his condemning look into his soul. He couldn’t tell Megan that, could he? Surely she would reconsider her choice if she knew what an inadequate companion he really was. He hadn’t been allowed to attend the ceremony two years ago, so he wouldn’t know who had been the first to choose their Sword, even if he could remember.

There was only one answer that wouldn’t get him in trouble and he shook his head. “No, we are only allowed to attend the year before we will be chosen ourselves.”

“Two years ago, when it was my brother Jared’s turn, King Jeffrey was the first one to pick his Sword. Each year a different House gets their first pick. Which means it is now my turn. Don’t worry, Jensen, everything will go as wished.”

She patted his arm comfortingly and for the first time in a long time, Jensen allowed himself to feel hopeful.  
p>


	2. Chapter 2

The cries of the wounded hurt Jensen’s ears, but he couldn’t afford to falter in his strenuous efforts to find Megan. They had been separated when she sent him towards the eastern flank to tell Captain of Lindberg to trap Morgan’s troops on the other side of the forest. It was a vain effort, since they were hopelessly inferior to King Jeffrey’s army. They were outnumbered by three to one, and while Megan had known that from the start, it hadn’t stopped her from attacking. 

Everyone had told her it was futile, that the casualties would never justify the endeavour, but she wouldn’t listen. Ever since Joshua of Ackles had told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her abilities as a commander-in-chief she was reckless, not listening to her advisors. Joshua had hurt her deeply with his evaluation and she strived to demonstrate that she could win without his help. There was a lot of hurt pride for such a delicate person, and it was mostly Jensen and the troops that had to suffer her moods.

He tapped into the magic that was part of his very core, like a second bloodstream, flowing through his entire body. When they first had performed the ritual that bonded them together, Megan’s magic had felt pure, powerful, fantastic even. It was a heady rush that Jensen had needed a long time to suppress and channel right. They might have taught him the theory of what he was to expect, but it was plain different from really feeling it, living it.

They hadn’t bothered to tell the Swords that merging their own magic with the magic of their noble resulted in excruciating pain for several days. The whole body suffered from the metamorphosis it was undergoing, creating a new and stronger being. Megan was a great person, caring for him like nobody else ever did before. She brought him water and food and gave him the softest mattress and linen he could have wished for. She dabbed his sweat-soaked brows, cooled his feverish cheeks and made sure the fire in his chamber was stoked when he shivered.

They made an excellent team afterwards. Megan’s magic flowed strong through his veins, enabling him to go faster, fight harder and longer, to conquer what she needed him to. There were only minor setbacks, their campaign victorious up until their break with Joshua of Ackles. It was the beginning of their own rift.

Jensen ran faster than he thought he could, the strong urge to find Megan spurring him on. A thought had nested in his mind, taking up all the space until he was barely able to note where he was. He had a bad feeling something horrible would happen to the princess, and he needed to find her, to protect her. It was his sole purpose in life, making sure she lived to see another day. He couldn’t shake off the sense of foreboding wrecking his mind, the knowledge he could - would - be too late. 

He stumbled, going down hard on his knees. Jensen winced at the crunching sound as he cushioned himself with his gloved hand, crashing into a stack of twigs. The fall rattled his bones and sharp pain shot from the fingers of his left hand into his shoulder. The broken pieces of a sword had pierced his skin, straight into his palm. For a moment he could only stare at the wound, not really comprehending the blood that dripped onto the muddy ground, saturated with rain and the life essence of Megan’s soldiers. Between the shards was the ripped crest of House Padalecki, the blue color almost black with blood and barely recognizable. 

Horrified Jensen got up on his feet, his left hand spasming as the jagged metal tore more of his flesh. He didn’t have the time to look after the wound. Megan needed him.  
He tried to access her magic again, since the fall had made him lose his focus, but couldn’t seem to find it within him. Frantically, he looked for the spark within himself, that essence that wasn’t his but was his at the same time. Their bond had always been tactile for Jensen, but now there was nothing.

He staggered forward, adrenaline making him faster. He had lost his orientation but something spurred him on, guiding his steps. He crossed a small stream, more like a rivulet, but it was red with blood. As soon as he breached the trees, Jensen felt like he had stepped into a slaughterhouse. The bushes were tinted in red, leaves heavy with crimson. It seemed to quelch under his sturdy boots, making a surprise attack impossible. If anyone was here, they heard Jensen from far away. Still he moved on, bitter anticipation heavy in his stomach. Despite his heavy straps and harsh breathing everything was eerily silent. There was no wind brushing the trees, no birds chirping. The sky was grey, clouds obscuring the sun.

It screamed of bad omens.

Jensen wasn’t one for superstition. He believed lives were fated from the start. There wasn’t a series of unfortunate events leading to one’s fate and no matter what lay at the end of this path, Jensen couldn’t do a thing to change it. He was where he should be and the Gods would do as they pleased.

The brush got thicker, darker until the bushes were blocking his way and the trees swallowed almost all the remaining light. The twilight swallowed even his heavy steps, emitting a calm that was almost supernatural. Thorns were ripping at his tabard, deep gorges splitting the Padalecki crest and still he refused to assume the worst. He was going to find Megan and they were going to get out of here unharmed.

The adrenaline fueling his quick pace slowly trickled to a stop. Jensen’s hand hurt fiercely and he looked at it in sick fascination, noticing the shard was still stuck. He tried to flex it, but it was swollen and he could barely move his fingers. Pain radiated through his arm, making him dizzy and he stumbled, nearly going down in a shrubbery of raspberries. He stepped out onto a clearing, the sun suddenly bright and blinding.

There were two men standing over a person on the ground. Jensen used his hands to shield his eyes but couldn’t make out their features. He drew his sword, his right hand shaking and stepped closer with slow determination. He couldn’t see clearly, their shapes blurred by the harsh sunlight and Jensen tried to read them by their silhouettes. Their postures were calm and non-threatening, both their hands at their sides, not even near their swords. There was a small chance they were soldiers of the Padalecki army, but it didn’t sit right with Jensen. The soft hair on his neck was prickling, tingles of uneasiness ramping up his anxiety.

He saw it when it was too late. A cloud occluded the sun just long enough for him to see the black and crimson colors of House Morgan, the rich floral pattern framing the roaring lion indicating a high officer. Jensen swallowed the lump clogging his throat, steadying his breath, mentally preparing for the inevitable fight. It was then he saw who lay on the ground.

The blood was marring Megan’s porcelain skin, her hair saturated with it. Jensen didn’t see a visible wound on her, but she was covered in red from head to toe. Her cape was torn to shreds, the tatters barely covering her shoulders. Her opulent leather vest, reinforced with iron scales to protect her vital organs, was stained by mud, the Padalecki blue almost unrecognizable. Her leather pants were equally stained, but at least they appeared to still be in place, not hastily pulled up after the man finished defiling Jensen’s princess. It was only a small consolation. Megan was dead, that much was obvious. It was the reason Jensen couldn’t tap into her magic, the reason he would die now as well, at the hands of their enemies.

He contemplated what it would mean for the future of House Padalecki. Joshua of Ackles would be alone in the fight against King Jeffrey and the Ackles’ were never that keen on the war. Joshua only helped because of some obscure marriage contract several generations removed and the threat of Jeffrey conquering Ackles territory. They were caught in the feud between the Houses of Morgan and Padalecki. Jensen didn’t even know what it was that had made those two parties hate each other for generations. The fact that Jeffrey used it as an excuse to maim and terrorize Padalecki countrymen had led to over a decade of bloodshed. All to end at this point, the last of the Padalecki heirs dead, the second-born son Jared lost to the world. Megan had been the last chance to bring peace to the realm, and now she was dead. And Jensen realized it was his fault. He should never have listened to her, never should have allowed her to separate from him. He’d known it could only end in tragedy.

He could only avenge her death, go out with the glory of a warrior. He raised his sword, picked up his speed. The sun was blinding him again, but it didn’t matter. He was out for the blood of these men, regardless the personal cost. He heard one of the man laugh, saw one of them reaching for his sword and then the clank of metal hitting metal echoed in the air.

Jensen gripped the handle of his sword with both hands, ignoring the flash of pain as his veins sang with bloodlust, with righteous anger. His opponent was a skilled fighter. He could see it in every move, block and return. Every easy turn and quick evasion made it clear his opponent wasn’t just a seasoned swordsman but indeed a Sword. Without his magic, Megan’s magic, Jensen was just an ordinary man, hurt and in emotional distress.

It didn’t take long before a vicious strike brought him to his knees, blood seeping from the wound in his thigh. It wasn’t deadly, but it incapacitated him enough that the other man could bring his sword up and hold it mercilessly to his jugular. Jensen swallowed and the small bob of his Adam’s apple was enough to nick his skin. He flinched away from the blade but it followed him. His own sword still in his hand, Jensen wasn’t ready to give up yet and he looked up defiantly.

Christopher was grinning at him. His teeth were bared and gave him a feral appearance. He was known among the other Swords, infamous for his cruelty. He had outlived several nobles, some of them dying under suspicious conditions. It was almost unheard of, a Sword bonding to another noble noble, since the magic bonding them was strong and wouldn’t allow to form another bond easily. It was possible, but it needed a strong character and an even stronger connection between the new noble and the Sword. It needed a complex amalgam of bad intentions, dark magic and ruthlessness to be bonded to noble after noble. 

A shudder of pure horror went through Jensen. If Christopher was here, it meant that-

“Well, what have we here, Christopher? Looks like the coward finally decided to grace us with his presence. Hello, Sword Jensen.”

King Jeffrey had been impressive years back, when Jensen was young and attending the ritual, and he still was. His beard was a bit more peppered with white, but his shoulders were still broad and muscular. He looked impeccable, not a hair out of place, his beard groomed to perfection. He was relaxed. A man who was sure of himself and his servant, in complete control of the situation. He eyed Jensen like he had back at the Monastery, but contrary to the past, Jensen now had the ability to read people, to understand their intentions by the way they were looking at him, acting with him. 

He shuddered, the sword cutting the vulnerable skin on his neck again. Now he recognized the hunger in Jeffrey’s gaze, the barely concealed lust, mirrored by Christopher, who slowly licked his lips. 

“Look at what you have done, Jensen. Megan is dead because you were not protecting her. You abandoned her in the midst of a battle, letting her fight for herself. If only she knew you couldn’t protect her, she would have thought better than picking you.”

He wanted to protest, to tell them it wasn’t his fault, but these were his enemies and he wasn’t about to answer. However, while Jensen knew it was absolutely true that he couldn’t have prevented Megan’s death, small tendrils of doubt took root in his mind, their sharp thorns poisoning his thoughts. He should have refused their separation, should have put his foot down, even if it wasn’t his place to do so. Megan never listened to him, never took his advice if it didn’t agree with her own plans. It always bothered him, her stubbornness, to the point where she would make decisions that hurt people, got them killed. Just to make a point.

There was no love between him and Megan. He was her Sword, her companion, but they didn’t share a deeper connection. She was still a stranger to him, even after all these years. Ever since he refused to take her offer. There were so many hurt feelings between them, but neither had bothered to mend them. Jensen hadn’t known how, barely knew how to handle anything else except Megan’s moods and her military advisors (the ones she would actually listen to). 

It didn’t erase the fact that she was dead, murdered by King Jeffrey and his Sword, while he was away, trying to fulfill her last orders. His responsibility to her had ended in the worst possible way and while he wasn’t sure he would survive this day, he would bring her home. It was his duty, the last he had ever to meet. Jensen didn’t know what came afterwards, if he would be punished for letting her die, or if the Padaleckis would allow him to keep his life. They never talked about this possibility.

“Do you know what will happen now? How do you think your army will react to the fact that this is your fault? What will poor King Gerald and Queen Sherri say?”  
The mocking tone grated on Jensen’s nerves but they rang true in his mind. Nobody would care Megan ordered him away and finally fell to her own hubris, thinking she could win this hopeless battle if she was moving her troops clever enough. Nobody would care that every one of her generals had begged her to not send him away, to let him stay at her side. In the eyes of everyone it would be Jensen’s fault, his fault for leaving, his fault for letting her die. He thought back to his years at the Monastery, the endless hours of studying, of learning to use his own magic, learning how to fight. All so he would never have to outlive his noble, never have to live with the shame.

Still he couldn’t, wouldn’t answer King Jeffrey. There was nothing to say to the murderer of his princess. He didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction, to break down at the thought of what was awaiting him at Padalecki Keep, once he went back there.

Christopher grew impatient and the sword nicked his throat again, a bit stronger, deeper than before. His eyes flashed bright and he licked his thin lips again. Jensen’s eyes grew wide as the tip of the sword trailed slowly over his soft skin. Another flick and the leather collar parted together with his skin, the small cut from neck to shoulder oozing blood shallowly.

“You better answer my King, Brother. He isn’t a very patient man.” His voice was nasal, soft and steady, like he wasn’t inflicting tiny wounds to Jensen with every twitch of his hand. His glee was evident, and Jensen suddenly understood the lustful expression in his eyes. Christopher liked to inflict pain, to make others hurt. Jensen thanked Inanna for this small favor. He didn’t want to think about anything else that could happen to him alone in this forest.

But he wouldn’t give them both the satisfaction to see his fear, feel the desperation. Jensen knew his chances to succeed were slim, but he made his plan. It was fairly simple: bring Megan home to her family. He would get up, would defeat Christopher and carry his princess away. He didn’t know yet how he was going to accomplish this foolhardy plan, but it didn’t matter. He concentrated on the magic inside of him, the one that was his own, now a small trickle that he wasn’t connected with Megan any longer. It wouldn’t be enough to match other Swords, probably wouldn’t be enough to overpower Christopher.

He lifted his right arm, sword still tightly gripped and batted Christopher’s blade away, giving him the opportunity to get up again. His left leg shook with the effort to keep him upright. Jensen took a deep breath, ready now that he was making his last stand, and a fierce battle cry disturbed the few birds nesting in the trees surrounding the clearing. 

His attack caught Christopher off guard and he brought his sword down, a good blow to the left side of his opponent. Like a berserk, those legendary warriors feared and praised by everyone, he laid into Christopher, regardless of his own pain, his own wounds.

Blow upon blow forced Christopher to retreat, his left arm pressed to his bleeding side, his face a mask of pain. Still he was only dodging Jensen’s strikes, not attacking himself. Jensen didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he refused to falter in his steps. He was so close to Megan now, had almost reached her. He hoped to incapacitate Christopher, hoped Jeffrey would let him go to care for his hurt Sword, but he couldn’t hit again. Every one of his blows were deflected, his opponent still quick on his feet, dancing away whenever he came close to strike.

Jensen only recognized Christopher was playing with him, goading him on, when it was too late. He tripped over something hidden by the grass and glanced down. The sun was reflected in the dull metal of Megan’s sword, small splatters of blood giving it a rusted, used look. His heart froze as the reality of what happened consumed his thoughts again. Megan, dead. The war, lost. Jensen, most likely to die himself. Both of them buried in this strange place, alone and lost.

It was only a second of distraction, but it was enough. Jensen didn’t see the nod King Jeffrey was giving his Sword, didn’t see the nasty grin lighting up Christopher’s face. 

The blow was faster than the eye could see, fueled by strong magic. It took Jensen by complete surprise, knocking his head back. His mind didn’t have time to process what was happening before a quick follow-up of punches mixed with quick jabs of the sword drove him backwards. He staggered under the onslaught, but Christopher was too quick and strong to defend himself against it. A fierce punch numbed Jensen’s right arm, causing him to drop his sword. His nose broke shortly after and he went down, unable to support himself any longer.

Everything hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the hopelessness that paralyzed him. He’d been so close to overwhelming Christopher, or so he had thought. He couldn’t move his right arm, and the pain from the wound in his left hand rendered his left arm useless too. The wound in his thigh was throbbing, covered with mud and grass, infection already settling in. He lost. He was going to die.

Tears were forming in the corner of his eyes, but he refused to let them spill over. Christopher was eyeing him with curiosity and that mad glee that made Jensen shudder in distress. He didn’t move though, just watching, waiting, for what, Jensen didn’t know. Jeffrey had stepped in his peripheral vision, slowly making his way over to his Sword. They built a unit, their breathing in sync, their stances alike. The same cold, but gleeful expression, taking in every small movement, every wince of pain Jensen made. He hoped to Inanna it was going to be a quick death. 

The sharp cry of a bird of prey disturbed the oddly silent scene. King Jeffrey looked up and smirked.

“I would say, you have about two days before they are here. Enough time for you, Christopher?”

“Of course, my king. Shall I set up camp here?”

“It should be a sufficient place, shouldn’t it?”

Jensen followed their exchange, fear fluttering deep in his belly. He didn’t know what was going on, but his instincts screamed at him to get away. He tried to lift himself up since neither King Jeffrey nor Christopher were sparing him any attention, but he couldn’t move. His one good leg wouldn’t support even the idea of carrying his weight, shaking with the effort it took to get off his knee and put his foot on the ground. Pain wrecked his body and he choked.

The bird that somehow had made the men change their plans was circling high above him, proudly conquering the sky with its enormous wingspan. Jensen followed its flight until the shape was barely recognizable in the distance. The wind picked up. Dark clouds chased the bird, but it escaped effortlessly. Jensen watched wistfully, glad at least something got away from this unscathed, and finally resigned himself to his fate. There was nothing he could do, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

The great hall was a chaos of smells, colors and voices. It had been quite some time since the keep had needed to attend to so many people, but Joshua of Ackles had summoned every half-decent warlord, strategist and investor to have a war council at Hjemsted and Jared felt himself compelled to give in to his wishes. They’d been friends a long time ago, before James died, and while their companionship was buried the day they buried Jared’s Sword, Joshua still liked to consult him in his war effort. 

Jared hated those gatherings. He still felt the resentment rolling off Joshua in waves, felt the hatred that had poisoned their relationship. He understood completely, but it didn’t prevent the hurt. He had not only lost James that day but his best friend as well. Having him in here, in his home, brought that to the forefront of his mind, brought back the pain anew.

Jared stood up above in the rafters, watching the teeming crowd below. Food was served on large platters and the soldiers devoured it with gratitude. Good provisions were hard to come by in such long campaigns. Most of the Ackles soldiers hadn’t been back to their homeland in years, and it showed. Their faces were careworn, lined with worry and pain, many of them were injured, but they were still following Joshua, still fighting this war that wasn’t even their cause.

Everything had started with a failed marriage between a Padalecki and a Morgan, and their feud had lasted for close to a century. Jared and Megan had been raised with the knowledge that their whole lives would be spent at war, that they would have to fight until they died - or finally ended the fruitless bloodshed. But nobody could win a fight that persisted for generations.  
Children were born at the bivouacs, raised in the field, and they died there, leaving behind the next generation of soldiers.

Jared mourned the many lost children, the widows and orphans. They were the reason he’d decided to exile himself. He hadn’t wanted to watch those people die, couldn’t stand another day of bloodshed, another day of screaming and begging to the Gods to please make the pain stop. His men sometimes mocked him that he was weak, cut from a different cloth than his ancestors who had fought the good fight.

Truth was, Jared was tired. James’ death had not only hurt Joshua. It was Jared who had lost his Sword that day, his most trusted companion. His lover. Joshua might have been best friends with James, quite an unusual case since nobles and other Swords didn’t mingle, but he couldn’t understand the deep connection between Jared and James, who felt every heartbeat, every ebb and flow of magic between them.

It was an accident that had cost James his life. No, that wasn’t true. While they both worked together quite excellently, Jared had always been sure that he had chosen the wrong companion. As soon as they bonded, he had felt something amiss. It wasn’t big, barely noticeable, but Jared had always known something was wrong. Eventually it had killed James and Jared swore to never join the ranks of nobles again, to never take on another Sword.

Instead, he built a homestead for those who weren’t welcome with their families any longer. The keep housed the former Sword of Mark of Pellegrino, ambushed and killed by bandits far away from home. While Mark of Pellegrino was hanged by the vigilants, a slow and torturous death, Bill, his Sword, was forced to watch it all. 

Steve, the former Sword of Jason of Manns, had been laid low by a vicious bout of smallpox and had been discarded like a rag. Jason died in the Battle of Noeon, on his way to the Monastery. It seemed the Gods punished his harsh and unjustified decision to get rid of his Sword, immediately and in the most severe way. Steve was still feeling the aftereffects of the sickness and was withdrawn and mostly silent. Jared couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be thrown away like that, for something no one could have prevented.

There were more. Sophia, former Sword of Queen Genevieve of Cortez, or Ty, former Sword of Matt of Cohen. Lauren, a woman from the South was mourning the loss of her noble Felicia.  
All of them had decided to spend their lives here at Hjemsted Keep, and they could do so without prejudice and without the accusations of their former families. They could build themselves a life here, could learn to be more than mere fighters. Jared encouraged them to do whatever they wanted to do and supported their decisions as best as he could.

It was his own form of penance.

The presence of so many soldiers and of someone as important to the war as Joshua was making Jared uneasy. He wanted them gone, wanted the serenity of the keep back. It couldn’t be done, not right now, but he hoped Joshua would move on with his campaign soon enough.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Jared turned at the question, taking in Misha’s appearance. Today he had decided on a long tunic, almost long enough to count as a short dress, in a gaudy orange. Small beads were woven into the fabric and Jared thought they built some kind of pattern. He just couldn’t tell what it was. Misha’s hair was hidden by a green bonnet and his eyes seemed to be lined with soot. It made them unnaturally big and accentuated their intense blue, but Jared wondered why on earth Misha was dressing like this. After all this time it was fairly normal to see him in all sizes and style of clothes, his hair dyed in obnoxious colors, sometimes using them even on his face and nails.

It had always been this way, as long as Jared knew him. One day he had been at the keep’s gates, and hadn’t wanted to leave ever since. He was an excellent healer, caring for everyone, trying to rescue even the lost cases. It made accepting his quirks easy, and sometimes there were even bets on what he would be wearing. So far, Katie had won almost all of them and Jared suspected she and Misha were playing the others.

“I don’t like this many people at the keep. It makes me restless. I don’t know why Joshua is here, what he is trying to achieve. He knows I won’t join him, not ever, and I won’t fix his dispute with Megan. I don’t want anything to do with this fruitless war.”

Misha nodded. They’d had this conversation before, and nothing could convince Jared to leave his home to lead an army. He had abdicated the Padalecki throne because he couldn’t stand to see people die, people he loved and cared for. Not again.

“I know you don’t, but if you ever feel compelled to join your family, you should also know that we would support you in any way we can. Some of the Swords even agreed to be your new companion, if you ever need one.”

“No!” Jared was horrified. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - risk his friends like this. Why would they offer such an insanity? They all knew how James had died.

“Jared, we know there will come a day when you can’t hide here any longer. You know that as well as we do. If something happens to Megan, something bad, then you will have to fulfill your duty as the Padalecki heir. We just want to tell you that we will try our best to help you. Some of us are willing to protect you with our lives. They all know they’re living on borrowed time. None of them should be here, since they are seen as a disgrace to their brethren and to other nobles. Dull swords, if you will, once useful and sharp, but discarded now that their value is lost to time. It doesn’t have to be, you know. Dull swords can be sharpened again and one day you might have use for a sharp sword.”

Misha’s blue eyes were kind and understanding. They saw more than Jared liked, than he wanted to admit. He was aware that soon his time hiding away from his responsibilities could be over, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. It was far easier living here, in some kind of bubble, removed from the tiresome politics and fights of the three houses.  
Joshua’s presence seemed to be quite foreboding and Jared didn’t have to like it.

“I hope you don’t speak of the prophecy.” He sighed in exasperation. Ever since they found the almost faded words on a stone hidden away in the library, Misha liked to tease him about it.  
“I most certainly do.“ An impish smile graced Misha’s lips and Jared groaned. Not this again.

“Remember: ‘When the Nobleman heals the shattered Sword, their magic and power will rule the world. For their love shines brighter than the sun, evil will remain none.” He waved his arms around, like he was reciting the most beautiful poetry, performing in front of Kings and Queens. His eyes twinkled in mischief.

Jared couldn’t suppress a snort.  
“Whoever wrote this was quite a balladist. It’s a shame this masterpiece was gathering dust behind the bookshelf. It should be shouted from the tops of every crenel, the tops of every roof.” He suddenly sobered. “Admit it already, it was you who wrote this and hid it behind the books. You knew we wanted to replace the ailing wood and would find it.”

“I most certainly did not, Jared. I wouldn’t tamper with fate.” Religion was the only thing Misha’s didn’t make fun of. Jared could respect that, and he nodded in understanding.

“Did you just wander about, or were you looking for me?” Usually Misha left him alone with his moods, of which he had plenty, if Jared was honest with himself. He could be moody and withdrawn, railing against his fate. Everyone at the keep did, one way or another.

“David was restless these past days and I let him out. He hasn’t returned as of yet and I don’t know when he will be back, but we should prepare some beds. I had a disturbing dream tonight, full of blood and pain.”

It was bad, then. Misha and David, a huge eagle, were connected in some way nobody seemed to understand but them. Misha’s dreams were always prophetic, if you knew how to read them. Combined with the eagle’s restlessness, it couldn’t be too good. 

Jared cursed. Just what they needed now that Joshua was here and intended to stay for a fortnight.

“Most of the infirmary is occupied by Joshua’s soldiers. And I’m not sure we should mix them with whoever might join us soon. You never know. Maybe you can use the rooms in the East Wing, the ones designed for the lord’s children. They are far away enough not to disturb Joshua’s men and unused anyway. None of us have children.” Yet, Jared thought. He saw the heated looks between Katie and Ty, the way Chad and Sophia were dancing around each other. The way Sandy looked at him, her eyes telling him what he could have if he finally decided to be a man. Jared wanted to take her up on her offer, had kissed her on various occasions, but something was still holding him back.

Misha nodded in agreement and was about to say something else when heavy footsteps announced a visitor.

Joshua of Ackles looked tired, worn out. Jared was actually somewhat glad he had decided to stay this long. While Joshua wasn’t returning his friendship, not anymore, Jared still felt connected to him, remembered their time spent at Ackles hold, both learning how to lead an army. They were only one year apart, and when Jared returned with his Sword James, a strong bond between the three of them had formed. Until that fateful battle three years later.

Christian, Joshua’s Sword, followed behind him, in a respectful distance but not as far away that he couldn’t react to any threat. He was a powerful warrior, but an unconventional choice. Normally noble and sword were alike, with shared interests and traits. Those two weren’t, but had been successful for years now. While Joshua was calm, and almost a bit boring, Christian was outgoing and funny, reckless with words but never with his sword.

They were powerful, adequate to lead an army.

“Jared.” Joshua nodded his greetings, then waited, his pointed look fixated on Misha. Silence stretched between them, before Misha broke into a laugh. Jared rolled his eyes but signaled his friend to leave them alone.

“Jared, my scouts just returned. They say Jeffrey has gathered a huge army and is advancing towards the Elm. We don’t know yet if he is looking to attack the Singers or if he wants to seek alliance with the Shurleys. Chuck of Shurley has made it known he wants to support Jeffrey to finally settle the feud with Robert of Singer. But if he chooses to attack the Singers, he could use their resources to attack Shurley next, no alliance needed. I have sent out men to determine which is more likely to happen - if the Roberts’ land gives Jeffrey enough to go on, or if Robert is too heavily armed to make a foray happen yet.”

Joshua paused, his green eyes serious. Since Misha was gone, his posture had relaxed slightly. He still felt safe in Jared’s presence, a testament to the time they had spent together. Christian was flanking him, always vigilant. Jared wasn’t sure he had ever seen the Sword free and easy at any time. The stress must grate on his nerves. It certainly had when Jared was still fighting for his family.

“There is something else. The scouts found the remnants of Padalecki troops a day’s ride away. Most of the men were hurt, some of them dead. There was no trace of an officer, just soldiers trying to survive after a vicious battle. My men didn’t engage them, so we don’t know what happened. Shall I sent some of my horsemen to investigate?”

Cold fingers gripped Jared’s heart, a bad feeling taking over his thoughts. He usually tried to avoid thinking about his sister and her fervor to fight in this pointless war. She was too young, too impulsive, and he had heard of her half-baked decisions, endangering her men when it wasn’t necessary. He knew it was why Joshua finally separated from her, and he couldn’t feel the resentment he should in the face of his ally that had abandoned his family. 

He knew Joshua hadn’t made the decision lightly, had tried to argue with Megan, tried to make her see sense. Megan shared the Padalecki stubbornness and, if he was honest, also their hubris. Jared once had been a slave to the very same character traits, but James’ death had cured him of them. 

Even if he hadn’t seen his sister in years, even if he didn’t agree with her strategies and endeavors, he still loved her and didn’t want to face the possibility of her dying. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“Please do, if it isn’t any hardship. Is there something we can do to help?”

“In fact, there is. I know Katie is your best tracker and I want her to accompany them. She knows these parts of the country better than any of them do.”

“Yes, certainly. I also would like for Misha to join you.” At the sceptical raised eyebrow he chuckled and replied. “He might seem a bit loony, but he is the best healer I have ever met. If there is someone in need of help, he can provide it. He won’t hold you back, so you needn’t worry.”

“Agreed.”

They both turned their eyes on the mass of people below. People were running about, carrying plates of food and jugs of beer. Between the soldiers, dogs were fighting for scraps and children were running around, chasing each other between the tables, loudly laughing. It was a very homey scene, peaceful, cozy, but Jared felt it would only be the calm before the storm.

***

It was a cold morning, the sun barely touching the treetops, but Misha was in a good mood. He hadn’t left the keep in a long time and while he still worried about David’s absence and the disturbing dreams, he couldn’t help but smile. Nature was truly beautiful with its many shapes and colors. He looked closely into the underbrush lining the narrow path through the forest. Over there, by the copper beech was a hare, its nose twitching. It obviously waited for something to happen, vigilant of every other living thing surrounding it. The horse carried Misha away from the scene but not before he saw the light brush covering the ground shake and a small snout poking out. A burrow was hidden underneath the tree and the hare was keeping watch.

A few hours later they crossed a clearing, the meadow saturated with yellow flowers, softly whipping in the light breeze. Bees were busy ensuring new life, ignorant of the worries of human. It would be so much easier if man could just mind their own business, be grateful of what they had, being peaceful and just to their neighbors. Nature shared with everyone in it, didn’t demand compensation, didn’t hold back. It was free of prejudice and generous.  
Misha wished humans could all be like nature.

There were decent human beings, people who did their best to accommodate to the needs of others, helping and giving everything they had. But there were also the cruel ones, those who delighted in maiming and hurting, who stole and killed for the fun of it. King Jeffrey of Morgan was one of those bastards. Misha wished he could do something to him in his place, but he couldn’t. Not yet anyway. The wasn’t quite time yet, even if the place was. There was still something missing, something big, but fate couldn’t be rushed. Inanna would do as he pleased, taking his time as long as he thought it necessary.

Sometimes Misha was exasperated with the Gods, but it wasn’t his place to complain. Fate was a delicate issue and rash decisions could alter the world for the worse.

A sharp cry made him look up and a smile graced his lips as a huge eagle descended. He signaled the captain to stop, then stretched out his arm for the bird to land on. David wasn’t a normal eagle, of course. He was blessed by the Gods with the gift of the seer. Pretty unconventional for a bird, but Misha wasn’t going to complain. He and the bird had been together a long time and he was a faithful companion.

Huge claws dug into his uncovered arm. David never hurt him, so Misha didn’t bother with a protective glove. He stroked his hand through the rich brown plumage, marvelling at the softness and the variety of color. While the feathers were mostly an earthy brown, white and gold broke the monotony every so often, giving it a mottled pattern. David’s big brown eyes glinted consciously in the early morning sun, evidence he wasn’t a mindless bird but housed a bright spirit. They shared a moment, images flooding Misha’s mind as David relayed what he had seen. At the end he opened his lethal beak and dropped a small patch of cloth into Misha’s hand.

It was almost black with dried blood, but Misha recognized the ripped crest. House Padalecki.  
He beckoned the captain over, explaining what they were about to find of they continued and where. Despite the doubt in the man’s eyes, he ordered his soldiers to follow Misha’s lead. Katie didn’t say a word, just took her place right by his side.

They had done this before. She was the best at reading tracks, no matter how old and faint they were, and she followed Misha around enough to know when to relinquish her lead. The day, bright and promising before, felt cold and hostile all of a sudden. He hoped they would at least find someone who was still alive, but David hadn’t given him much hope.

It took half a day reaching the clearing the bird had shown them and it was utterly empty. The afternoon sun made the air thick, first tendrils of summer conquering the deep chill winter left behind, but there wasn’t a soul around. The birds had stopped chirping long ago, no bees were gathering pollen. The eerie silence made the men and horses nervous. They swarmed out, searching for any signs of life or what happened here. 

Misha stopped next to an old campfire. The debris was still fresh, merely a few hours old. Whoever left it here seemed to have departed in as if they had all the time in the world. There weren’t many traces except for the fresh ashes and the outline of a tent. The gouges in the slightly muddy ground were deep. Something heavy must’ve stood here. There were several footprints. Katie made out two persons, most likely man by the size of the prints, heavily armored at that.

“There is a faint trace going from here to there, vanishing in the trees. Do you see it, Misha?”  
He didn’t, but he hadn’t thought he would.  
“I thought it was maybe the place where they would relieve themselves, but the ground is disturbed too much for it to be the case. They tried to obliterate the path. It’s good, but not good enough. Follow me, if you will.”  
Katie pulled her dagger from the sheath on her hip, ready to strike. She wasn’t a swordswoman but absolutely deadly with that dagger of hers. The blade glittered in the sunlight, reflecting it like a kaleidoscope, colorful and mysterious. She was a gorgeous woman with her honey blond hair and delicate features that only hid her deadliness. Nature was truly marvelous. The most lethal things were the most beautiful.

They went into the underbrush, the trees swallowing them. It was cool, away from the sun, but there still wasn’t any sound, not even the faintest buzzing of insects. A twig snapped under Misha’s boot, loud and disturbing, and Katie choked.

There was a woman hanging from the tree in front of them, bound by her wrists and obviously dead. Her clothes were torn, but seemed mostly intact, still covering her most private parts. Her body was broken, the mutilations clearly visible, a cruel warning to everyone not to mess with whoever was responsible for this. Still, her face looked almost peaceful, serene even. Given the extensive injuries she shouldn’t look like she was just sleeping. With a sinking feeling Misha took in her royal blue vest and he didn’t need to see the family crest to know it was Megan of Padalecki, Jared’s sister. 

Katie circled the site while Misha went to examine the corpse. The soft buzz of magic greeted him. Someone had placed her under a stasis charm, preserving her for others to find the message without animals feasting on the body. While the procedure was cruel and demeaning, MIsha was glad they could take her back to Jared, give her a proper burial. She deserved as much.

Except for the stasis charm there weren’t any other traces of magic on her. Her own was lost when she died, returning back to the beginning wherever that was. Barely any secrets were revealed about magic other than that noble and Swords could connect and create a strong bond. Megan’s wounds were dealt by hand and blades. The mutilations seemed to have happened after she died. There was a gaping cut in her throat. Misha hoped it hadn’t taken long for her to move on. The sheath at her hip was empty, as were her pockets. Other than the quality of her clothing and the Padalecki crest there was nothing to identify her.

Katie’s scream disturbed his musings. She was crouching next to a pile of dirt and dead leaves, frantically digging, ripping away clumps of mud. He scurried over, looking for something that made her behave like this. His breath caught in his throat.

Between two trees lay a man, naked from what Misha could see, but covered by blood and dirt. More importantly, he was breathing raggedly, the pain evident in every hitched inhale, every forced exhale. He would bet a lot of coins that whoever hung up Megan like this was also responsible for the state of the man.

They slowly removed the dirt around him. Misha cataloged his extensive injuries, taking in the damage that would likely take a month to heal. If he would survive at all, given the severity of some of them. When they finally dug him out, he sent Katie to fetch Joshua’s soldiers. They needed to take the man back to Hjemsted. Out in the field, there was nothing Misha could do. 

He brushed a lock of sweat-soaked hair from a fevered forehead. The skin was smooth, if slick, and devoid of creases. Misha reckoned he was young, most likely Megan’s age. Her Sword, then. Shit! While Jared loved and supported their ragtag family of disgraced Swords, Misha wasn’t sure he would tolerate the man who got his sister killed.

The snapping and rustling of bushes announced Katie’s return. She was ashen-faced and slightly trembling. He could imagine it was a horrific picture, seeing both bodies so broken, but he didn’t allow himself to think about. His mind was devoid of emotions, his healer training taking over.

He instructed them how to pick the man up and they carried him out in the sun, laying him down onto the soft grass of the meadow. One of the men untied the straps of his cloak, draping it over the naked form, giving him a modicum of privacy.

“Captain, we need to get him back to the keep. I will need your fastest horse, time is of the essence here.” Misha performed a complicated set of signs and runes above the prone body and sleep settled over the man. The stasis charm was strong, but it would only last about six hours. One of the men took his pouch off a black horse and lead it over to them. Misha hoisted himself up. The soldiers picked the wounded man up, carefully placing him in front of Misha. He nodded to Katie, both of them exchanging looks. He hated to leave her alone with Joshua’s soldiers, but it couldn’t be helped. She waved her goodbye, then he was off to Hjemsted.


	4. Chapter 4

Jared was watching the forest in the distance. It had been a beautiful day and was going to be a mild night.

He felt pretty good, the uncertainty of the future aside. He had spent most of the time in Joshua’s company and while they would never be the same they’d been before James’ death, they mended some of their broken friendship. They shared stories of fights long won, of soldiers long dead but not forgotten in the memories of their comrades. The only one who never got mentioned was James.

Jared wished they could talk about him. He wasn’t the only one mourning, the only one hurting still. James had been the love of his life. Their time might have been short, but intense. It wasn’t uncommon for noble and Sword to engage romantically and Jared and James had hit it off from the start. He had never felt something so intense, so pure. They were so much alike in their thinking, so deeply connected. They hadn’t needed to talk to understand each other. And then James was ripped from Jared’s side.

He remembered the battle vividly, the details seared in his mind. It was a horrific fight, many soldiers falling on both sides. James fought like a tiger, swift and deadly and Jared couldn’t have been prouder to have this beautiful man by his side, to have his unwavering loyalty. He loved to see James move, fluid and effortless. He felt the magic of their bond strong in his veins, wrapped around his own. They fought side by side, never wavering, never faltering and soon they stood against the last opponent.

Fredric of Lehne had been a strong opponent, his Sword Jack a worthy opponent to James. Their swords clashed while Jared and Fredric watched. Time seemed to stand still as they traded blows, neither of them gaining the upper hand. A vicious hit forced Jack to step back and gave James and Jared the time to exchange a look. They hadn’t done this before, hadn’t tried to force their combined magic to achieve new heights, and Jared wondered if it was the right time. They hadn’t even the faintest idea what could happen if the magic was pushed beyond reasonable. Jared later justified their decision by telling himself that there hadn’t been another choice. 

He concentrated, channeled his power and pushed it through the bond. He could see James straighten, a joyous smile lighting up his face as he felt their essence mix, making him stronger. With preternatural speed he charged forward, catching Jack by surprise. The fight ended shortly after, Jared and James once again victorious. 

They met in wild kiss, lips and teeth clashing together, tongues entwined. The rush of battle slowly ebbed away as they embraced. It seemed like hours passed before they parted. Jared held James at arm's length. They shared a heated gaze of pure love.

And then James’ eyes rolled into his skull and he broke down, his body wrecked by seizures. Misha, who had freshly joined them as an army surgeon, later told him it was the overload of magic. While James had been a strong warrior and a capable Sword, he wasn’t the perfect match for Jared’s magic. As Misha explained it, there was only one Sword that was able to handle a noble’s magic to the full potential. James hadn’t been the one and both him and Jared had paid direly for their mistake.

Jared never forgave himself and he never chose another Sword. It hurt too much to replace his love and he didn’t want to risk another person’s life. There was no possibility to know who was your ideal companion.

Joshua being here did bring these memories back and they still hurt. They both lost an important person when James died and Jared never forgot the vicious accusations thrown into his face, sharp with sadness and grief.

The sun was already touching the horizon, barely visible through the trees when he spotted a single rider nearing the keep in neck breaking speed. He was alarmed at first, but soon the cry of an eagle announced who it was. It landed right in front of Jared, the rich brown plumage wind-blown, eyes wild and on alert. David was back and so was Misha, but if he was riding like the hounds of hell were behind him, it had to be urgent.

Jared left the crenel, long strides taking him down the stairs until he reached the keep’s yard. He ordered the sentinels to be ready to open the gate for Misha, while he cleared the courtyard of people. They didn’t need to be here, not if it really was that urgent. The tumult seemed to have alerted Joshua, who stormed out of the great hall, fastening his sword belt, his face set in calm determination. Chris was close behind, a silent shadow now that threat was possibly waiting for them. They made a magnificent pair and Jared ached for this kind of companionship, even if he would never admit it.

Misha passed the gate a few minutes later and Jared was puzzled when he saw the limp body of another man. A servant took the reins of the horse while Misha instructed two other men to bring the clearly injured man to the infirmary. Jared told them to use the rooms they had chosen previously and off they went, careful not to jostle the wounded anymore than they needed to.

The cloak that barely covered his body, slipped slightly as they passed the small group. Christian made a pained noise. The Sword stepped forward, laying his hands on Joshua’s shoulder.

“Josh, it’s Jensen.”

Joshua’s eyes went wide with the information. There was something in his gaze that Jared didn’t understand. He didn’t say another word, before he turned and followed the small procession inside. 

Jared was left alone with Misha, who was breathing heavily. With shaking legs he demounted the black horse, exhaustion obvious in his careful steps. He had a small bag clutched in his hand, pushing it from one to the other, seemingly at odds with what he was about to do.  
Finally he looked up at Jared, his face contorted with sadness and pain.

“Jared”, he said, slowly, as if he could delay what he needed to say. “Jared. We, well, we found a clearing and traces of two men. Katie tracked their footmarks into the forest and we found.” He swallowed audibly, then licked his lips. Jared was impatient but felt the cold hands of dread overwhelming him, despite the fact that he didn’t know what happened exactly.  
“We found Megan, Jared. I am so, so sorry. There was nothing we could have done. Her throat was slit, she didn’t suffer long.”

Misha probably thought it was some kind of comfort to know she didn’t suffer, but all Jared could think that she was dead. He sensed there was more to it, things that Misha hadn’t said and likely wouldn’t say. Megan, his precious sister, his joy, dead. Murdered, if it was true her throat was slit. He hadn’t known he could still feel such a fierce pain, but he could and it took his breath away. What were their parents going to say? Their heiress dead, their baby girl slaughtered. 

Suddenly all he felt was anger. Where was Megan’s Sword, protecting her in her hour of need, making sure she survived? It was the sole purpose of a Sword, their only reason to live. They were devoted until death parted them from their noble. Their death, not Megan’s!

“Where was her fucking Sword, Misha? Why didn’t they protect her?” Anger contorted his face into an ugly mask, his teeth clenched, split flying as he demanded to know what happened.

Misha reared back like he’d been slapped. He probably never saw Jared lose his temper, but there was a first time for everything. Ever since James’ death he had tried to reign his negative emotions in. Sure, he was sometimes sad, but he had long since freed himself from the anger that seemed to have a permanent part in his life. It didn’t rule his actions anymore. To experience it now, a sudden rush of fury coursing through his veins, was strange and didn’t sit well with him, but sorrow clouded his mind.

“W-we don’t know. We found a young man, barely alive, buried in a pile of dirt next to Megan. We didn’t find any clothes or hints regarding his identity, so we can only assume it’s her Sword. I need to go, Jared, the stasis charm I used to transport him should wear off soon enough. He direly needs a healer. I’m sorry for your loss, but maybe we can at least save one life today.”

He pushed the bag into Jared’s hands before he stormed off, surely to do his duty as a healer. With shaking fingers Jared opened the drawstring and looked inside. It contained only a small rag, but as Jared unfolded it, he recognized his own family crest. As he stared at the remains, the tears finally found their way.

***

Chris almost overlooked the servants carrying his best friend away, but luckily caught a glimpse of the cloak tightly wound around the body before they were out of sight. He hadn’t seen Jensen in almost three month, ever since Josh had refused to support Megan’s endeavor any longer. She was reckless in her strategy, not caring for her soldiers, only for the success of the campaign. No matter how often Josh told her she wouldn’t succeed, not the way she lead her troops, she remained unyielding, stubborn and dangerous to her men. It hadn’t been an easy decision, leaving her alone in the middle of winter, to retreat back home to Ackles Hold. 

Jensen had been unhappy when they departed, clearly trying to convince Megan to change her mind, but she never listened to him, no matter how good his reasoning was. His opinion didn’t count to her since he was her personal guardian and servant, maybe equal by name but never in reality. She wasn’t abusing him, but she didn’t care for his person either. She wouldn’t allow him to have other relationships beside theirs, wouldn’t allow him even a night off to get a tankard of ale. She controlled his every move but there was nothing anyone could have done. As long as she wasn’t hurting him physically, the magic between them would still be stable, their bond remain as strong as it was.

Even as they traveled together, Chris barely was allowed to talk to Jensen. He’d been horrified how much his friend had stayed the same like he’d been at the Monastery, all work and no play. Calm, serious, barely smiling.  
Chris once knew a happy child if somewhat shy, who was loved by his brethren and sisters. It was a far cry to this young man. He had shared his worries with Joshua, but despite him talking to Megan, nothing changed. Jensen was introverted, withdrawn, living only for his duty.

To see him now like this, barely alive and beaten to hell, made Chris wonder if they should have fought harder to convince Megan to change her ways. If this could’ve been prevented with just the right words. 

And if Jensen looked like this, was Megan dead? It would break Jared’s heart, that was for sure. 

Chris followed the men to a room, musty with disuse, but clean. A fire burned bright in the fireplace, trying to disperse the stale smell. They laid Jensen down on a wide bed, careful to not jostle him more than they had to and Chris was finally able to take a good look at his best friend.

At first, he wasn’t even sure if it really was Jensen. Blood matted his hair, disguising its natural honeyed brown with horrific red. His face was barely recognizable, one eye swollen shut, the other a mass of purple, red and blue bruises. Blood had trickled from his nose and dried on his lips. Everything else was covered by the thick black cloak with the Padalecki crest, everything but naked feet. It lead Chris to believe that the only piece of clothing that was currently on Jensen was in fact the cloak. He didn’t want to think about what that actually meant.

“No!” The shout was loud and sudden, causing Chris to flinch. Joshua had found the room and if Chris needed any more confirmation that this was really Jensen, the anguished cry made them disappear. He barely got his arms around Joshua before he tried to reach the bed. He understood completely, yet he didn’t want his noble to interfere, not before a healer had looked Jensen over. 

“No, Josh, not now. Let a healer take a look first. I know it’s hard, I know it looks horrible, but we don’t know what happened and we definitely don’t want to make it worse,” Chris tried to soothe him, his voice barely above a whisper. He was faintly amazed with himself, at how calm he could be even surrounded by a storm of emotions.

Joshua nodded in understanding, but he twitched helplessly, little aborted moves that gave testament how much he wanted to touch his brother.  
When Chris and Josh first bonded, they did so over their mutual connection to Jensen. While Joshua never even met his brother, since all second born children were delivered to the Monastery shortly after birth, he never forgot his estranged sibling. He had unerringly chosen Chris to be his Sword, the only one with a deep connection to Jensen. Of all their brethren and sisters, Chris knew him best. There were many stories to tell about their childhood and some of the mischief they did.

Of course Joshua and Chris bonded over other things, but they never forgot their foundation was built on Jensen. 

After everything was made ready - a kettle was heating over the fire, various linen laying on a small table together with an assortment of jars and a heavy looking satchel - the servants left the room and both men waited patiently for the healer.

When he finally strode in, they were surprised to see it was the same man who brought Jensen back to the keep. He was a bit shorter than both Chris and Joshua, with a shock of black hair and kind blue eyes. He had changed into a pair of soft looking trousers and a wide tunic in a deep black. Around his neck was the traditional charm healers wore for good fortune. It was a small golden feather, looking so delicate Chris thought a small breeze could take it away.

Misha, as he remembered the name now, eyed them warily, but then proceeded to ignore them. He checked his workspace, opened some jars, taking out strange looking herbs. As he pestled them, he didn’t say a word but began a soft chant, the melody foreign to Chris. He felt himself relax, saw the tension seeping out of Joshua. Only when both of them were breathing calmly, Misha spoke.

“His injuries are numerous and I haven’t seen them all to even have an idea on what I am dealing with. Everything is possible. This is a war. I have seen it all and I treated it all. It is never easy for the healers, but it’s worse for friends and family. If you stay, you need to be strong. If you think you can’t be, please leave now and let me work. I promise I won’t think any less of you and I will tell you as soon as I am finished how things are.”

They exchanged an intense look. Joshua was frowning, but Chris could feel and see his determination.

“We’re staying.”

The healer, Misha, sighed, but nodded in agreement. Silently he set to work, not bothering with them until, in the hours close to sunrise, he finally pronounced that Jensen would live.

***

When Jensen woke, everything hurt. Even the smallest hair on his head seemed to be on fire, fierce agony rolling through his body, igniting every nerve ending. He tried to move, to shake off the searing pain, but found his arms and legs heavy like they were clad in iron. Even breathing hurt his throat and chest. He didn’t know if he should feel lucky to be alive or curse his unfortunate existence. Lying here, wherever he was, didn’t help him decide, so he braced himself and opened one eye.

The room was almost dark, only the small fire and a handful of candles provided light. He was in a bed, a big one with a soft mattress, which was more than he would have expected. The last thing he remembered were the straw ticks at the camp. Megan insisted on not having much luxury, which meant they ate the same food and slept in the same bed the other soldiers did. He couldn’t even remember when he had slept anywhere else than a tent.

The air felt hot on his skin, making breathing hard and a small bead of sweat rolled down his temple, drying on the pillow below. Something was wrong with him, Jensen was sure, but he couldn’t tell what. Except for the excruciating pain from head to toe, he felt nothing and remembered nothing.

A faint rustle of clothes made him stiffen, which Jensen instantly regretted, since it raised the pain to new heights. A man was standing next to the bed, doing something on the table next to it that Jensen couldn’t see. He should be afraid, he knew, being absolutely helpless like he was, not knowing a damn thing and severely injured, but the man radiated calmness and safety. He turned and bent over Jensen, a small cloth in his hand. He brought it up and wiped it over a sweaty brow, the coolness soothing heated skin.

The man didn’t speak, he just continued to wipe down Jensen’s face, his arms and collar bones. Only when he was finished the man’s gaze met his.

A shock went through Jensen as he saw those eyes, strange and oh so familiar at the same time. He never could have forgotten them, the multitude of colors seared into his brain for all the time. Jared of Padalecki watched him, emotions he didn’t understand fighting for dominance. Just like then, Jensen felt his soul laid bare before the man, open to be judged by the one he didn’t want to disappoint, even if they never met.

He saw the moment those eyes shuttered and the torrent of emotion settled on neutral indifference. It hurt, more than his injuries ever could, to see that dismissal. And it suddenly all came back to him. The failed campaign, Megan’s last stand. King Jeffrey and his Sword Christopher murdering her. Endless hours of torture and more torture, just because Christopher delighted in his screams and pleas.

Blood and pain, so much it overtook all his senses.

“My name is Jared of Padalecki. You are at Hjemsted Keep, a place far away from the war between the three houses. Our healer, Misha, found you after the battle and brought you here, barely alive. You are still in danger of dying. You have a high fever and Misha says that even if you live, it will take months to recover. They found Megan next to your unconscious body. Whenever you think you are ready, you can decide if you want to face justice and return to Padalecki lands. Or you can stay here, become a part of our family. The choice is yours.”

The words were kind, but there wasn’t any spirit in it. It hit Jensen then, the reality that Megan was indeed dead. She left a hole in his life, rendering him without purpose and sense. He was a Sword, it was all he knew to be. His only purpose in life was serving her, keeping her alive. He had sworn the holy oath all Swords knew by heart and still he had failed Megan when she needed him most. 

A small voice whispered in his ear, telling him it wasn’t his fault. That she was reckless, stupid and over-ambitious. That he couldn’t have prevented her death because she willingly gave up her life when she sent him away to fight with Captain of Lindbergh.

It hurt to think of her since she was the person he was closest to, and it wasn’t proper to think bad about dead people, but he was somehow relieved. The constant pressure to bow to her whims, to see what would be right and never being able to do so, it had worn Jensen out. He was tired of fighting her war, tired of living on the road, of sleeping in the mud, the weather an even harsher enemy than King Jeffrey’s men.

Still he felt so much guilt, so much shame. It was the worst possible thing for a Sword to outlive their noble, the one thing Jensen had sworn to never be guilty of. It had happened anyway. Without her magic, he was an insignificant swordsman, worth only the sharpness of his blade and nothing more. Christopher had stripped everything from him, first his sword, then his clothes and finally his dignity. What was left of someone after this? Jensen didn’t know.

You know, the small voice whispered again. He is disgusted with you, as he should!

While Jensen pondered about his shortcomings, Jared didn't say another word. He had resumed the task to cool his fevered skin, never looking at him again, never speaking again. Jensen supposed he deserved as much.


	5. Chapter 5

A fortnight came and went, and Joshua was still there, occupying the keep, eating all of Jared’s provisions and contributing nothing but unwanted advice. It grated on Jared’s nerves and more than once he snapped at his friends or a servant. People eyed him warily, trying to give him a wide berth, but he was the damn lord of the damn keep and they damn well would have to deal with him.

They had buried Megan in the gardens on the south side of the Hjemsted. It was a nice place, full of flowers once summer was there, the sun shining endlessly on the simple marker Jared had arranged. Soon after, he had sent a message to his parents, telling them what happened to their only daughter, asking what they planned to do now that only Jared was left. He knew they probably would insist on him taking his place as the rightful heir, but Jared wasn’t ready to give up his quiet life just yet. 

Although it wasn’t so quiet now and hadn’t been since they found Jensen, the former Sword of his sister. It had taken a week of fear for Jensen's life before Misha could assure them he would live. Jared imagined it must’ve been quite horrible to be awake and helpless the whole time, to see the worry on the faces of his visitors, to worry the whole time himself.

From what he had heard and seen, Jensen was a silent young man, introverted and not used to the presence of so many people who wanted to care for him. He blushed whenever someone had a nice word for him and thanked Jared’s men and women profusely even for the smallest task. People liked him well enough since he was polite to everyone, at his best behavior all the damn time.

It irked Jared. He wanted to hate the man, wanted to despise him for getting his sister killed. A part of him wouldn't shy away from blaming the useless Sword, from having nasty thoughts about retribution. He wanted him to hurt like he hurt, wanted to rip the fragile remnants of the man that had been responsible for his sister’s death apart and annihilate his existence.

Those were dark hours when Jared would let his thoughts wander those paths, when the urge for revenge was so strong he could taste the blood on his tongue. HIs hands would clench into tight fists, ready to pound and he would get up from his chair by the fireplace, almost reaching the door when he would come back to himself and the anger and grieve would fade.

He of all people knew that a bad decision could cost a Sword their life - and surely it was the other way round, too. Joshua had told him how reckless his sister had been, how she had gambled with the lives of her men, not caring for their fate when it wasn’t relevant for her victory. If the tales were true she had been a horrible heir to the Padaleckis. While it hurt to have lost a sister, he couldn’t be sad to have lost an unserviceable commander.

However, Joshua and Chris, who spent most of the last year in Megan’s company, had only good words for her poor Sword, Jensen. They spoke of a loyal servant, a good swordsman, a good companion. Of someone who was devoted to the House of Padalecki and nearly died together with Jared’s sister.

Jared refused to see Jensen with their eyes, holding onto the negative emotions, although it became harder every passing day, every minute he spent in his company. Those big green eyes made it almost impossible. They were expressive to a fault, easily readable and Jared saw the shame and sadness in them. The plead to be forgiven for a crime that Jared gradually accepted as bad circumstance.

The silence so heavy with blame and self-hate was so intense, Jared sometimes had to flee the room or he would break out in tears. He couldn’t stand the sorrow mixed with his own, choking him.

But there was something that was pulling him back and more than once, he found himself in front of Jensen’s door. Jared didn’t want to, however, the pull was sometimes so overwhelming. He felt connected to Jensen, but couldn’t explain it properly. It just confused him.

It didn’t help that Misha was always around, his eyes sharp, and understanding things Jared didn’t. He chatted animatedly with Jensen, telling stories of all sorts, from fairy tales to a vivid description of the meadow behind the paddock. Jensen often smiled softly at his antics but never contributed much to the conversation. He was content to let Misha talk.

Today Misha was clad in a forest green vest and black trousers, a fairly tame outfit, if it wasn’t for the colorful strips of satin that were woven into his hair. He looked like the incarnation of a forest nymph and Jared was jealous for a moment. It looked fantastic and he sometimes wished he could wear something decidedly ridiculous and look as good as Misha did.

Misha was puttering about, sorting through the many jars that still lined the shelves in the formerly unused room. He told Jensen all about making a healing salve for burns and was meticulously describing how to pick the right flowers, when Jared cleared his throat and entered the room.

As soon as his feet passed the threshold, Jensen's soft smile vanished and was replaced by guilt. It faintly hurt Jared to be the reason for this, but it irritated him at the same time. He refused to feel bad for something that wasn’t even his fault. He hadn’t got Megan killed.  
Jensen had every reason to feel the way he did. 

But then why did he want to make the sadness vanish, why did he wish for the smile to come back?

His confusing feelings almost incapacitated him sometimes and more than once he found himself rooted to a spot, trying to figure out what he actually felt. This nasty side of him or the one that got stronger every day: The one what wanted to absolve Jensen, wanted to make him smile again. And this time, it should be for him, for something he said, not some silly story Misha told.

He never felt this way and it was unsettling. Even when he met James the path had been clear. He had known what he wanted and hadn’t been afraid to take it. James had loved that about him. 

This wish to set somebody else above everything, to neglect his own needs in order to fulfill somebody else’s was new. Jared didn’t know if he liked it.

Jensen looked much better today. He had changed into a light grey tunic. His cheeks were still a bit flushed, but Misha assured him the fever was broken. He would feel weak for the next few days, but would get back his strength soon enough.

“How are you doing today, Jensen?”

Even though his cheeks were already tinged in red, Jared could see the blush spread at his words. He shouldn’t find it adoring, but he did.

“I am feeling much better, Lord Jared, thank you for your concern.” Jensen’s voice was quivering lightly, as if he was still unsure if he was allowed to speak to Jared.

“You can call me Jared, you know. Just Jared. Everyone does it.”

Jensen only nodded and averted his eyes. Jared could feel Misha’s eye roll, even if he wasn’t seeing it. They had a long talk a few days ago about the insecurities Jensen was feeling and that Jared had to treat lightly or the man would never open up. It wasn’t easy.

“I’m sorry, J-jared. How is your day today?”

“It’s a good day, thank you,” Jared answered, but was unable to pick up a topic to pursue the conversation.

Polite nothingness seemed to be the only thing Jensen was comfortable with, so Jared sat down and indulged, telling him everything about his ride to the northern forest. They were looking for shoats that were just the right age to touch up their menu.

Minutes passed by in silence after Jared had finished, until it was disturbed by a knock on the door. Joshua and Christian entered the room, both greeting Jared with a respectful nod. He shifted his chair around, leaving enough space for both of them to sit down next to him.

“Good morning, brother,” both of them said at the same time, snorting at each other. It was unheard of for a noble to reveal any family bonds to a Sword, but they had all agreed it was fine to go against this particular rule. 

Hjemsted was known as a place without conventions, free of the demands of society. Joshua and Jensen had been delighted to be reunited as a family. It happened almost never, since neither sibling knew of the other. In some cases, though, the semblance was unmistakingly there, which was the case with the Ackles brothers.

The conversation between Joshua, Christian and Jensen was way more effortless and friendlier than Jared’s had been and with a huff he realized that he was not needed right now. The thought stung a bit and he chided himself for being ridiculous. He wouldn’t be jealous of the three. 

He left the room in a hurry, not noticing Misha, who was by his side the whole time. He startled when the healer finally spoke.

“You should stop hiding behind that mask of yours. It’s time you come out and face what is in front of you.”

Jared looked at him, puzzled by the words. Of all the things he thought Misha would say to him, this wasn’t one of them. 

“Jared, you have been hiding behind James since I’ve known you. People believe in you, people want to bond with you, but you keep them away. I know you think Joshua is still furious with you, but he isn’t. He wants to share the pain but you won’t let go of it.”

A vein throbbed in Jared’s temple. Everyone knew not to talk about James and here they were, gracing a topic that was strictly forbidden. Misha didn’t seem to care.

“You know, when we’re alone, Jensen always asks about you. You are the reason for a lot of things in his life and he fears you hate him. It’s another thing you should consider, and you should consider it fast. Joshua wants to leave the keep by the next full moon, return to Ackles Hold and take his brother with him. I know there is something between you and Jensen. Make up your mind, Jared, there isn’t much time.”

Then Misha turned, leaving Jared alone with his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about any of this. The pain of losing James was still present at his very core, his foolishness a guideline how he couldn’t be if he wanted to be a successful leader. Not that he needed to lead anything else than his small household. 

He always felt like he would betray the memory of James if he ever let go of the guilt. Joshua’s cold reaction hadn’t made things better. He could feel the pain his friend was suffering from, but maybe it was the same Jared shared? Was his own pain different because they had been lovers? Was his love so different to the love Joshua felt for a friend? 

Maybe not. Maybe that was the chasm separating them. Jared had only seen his own pain, had put it above others because he thought he had the right to mourn more, to feel deeper. He had closed himself off from other people and maybe that wasn’t what James had wanted. James had always been outgoing and friendly, a habit Jared had valued because he’d been the same. Not anymore, he realized. And maybe Joshua hadn’t only mourned James’ death but Jared’s as well. Even if he was still alive, the occurrence had changed him irrevocably.

And then there was Jensen to consider. Something was compelling Jared to see him more often, to spend time with him even when all they did was remain silent. Even if it was uncomfortable, he felt that he could just sit and be with Jensen. It was a rare habit, hard to come by in a person, and it was something Jared craved. For all his life was a flurry of events, he wanted and needed someone to ground him.

And Jensen was beautiful. Jared barely allowed himself to look at him, in fear he was found out. Misha most certainly had figured it out. But could he really try and take the next step? Would Jensen want him to? According to Misha, he did. He wouldn’t ask about Jared all the time if he didn’t, would he? Then why was he so shy around Jared?

The only thing Jared would have to do is let James go and see where this led. Maybe it was time to allow himself a bit of happiness, no matter how long it would last. Could he really do that?

***

Another few days passed before Misha deemed Jensen well enough to leave his bed for more than just a few minutes. His body was healing fairly well, considering the injuries caused by Christopher and King Jeffrey. 

They never talked about the ordeal Jensen had been through or what happened to Princess Megan and Misha didn’t think that was wise. He saw how much it plagued his patient, saw the shadows of his memories darken the pale face every day. Misha knew it could be beneficial for the healing process if Jensen talked about what he had experienced, however he shouldn’t be forced. Maybe he would never willingly share his mind, or maybe he would. In the meantime Misha would make sure he felt safe and welcome in the company of the people living at Hjemsted.

Today they visited the herb gardens. The sun was high up in the sky, not the faintest trace of a cloud marring the beauty of Hjemsted. Misha explained all the different plants and herbs that grew in the gardens, which soil was best for growing more powerful potion ingredients and how to care for the tender twigs of the Leola bushes. 

Jensen was an avid pupil, listening intently to his explanations, asking questions on his own. While his walk was slow and careful, his mind was awake and vivid. It was a pleasure to work with such an attentive apprentice, even if Misha knew it wouldn’t last for long. Jensen was a born warrior, and he itched to get back into training. 

It was kind of sad, since Misha knew Jensen wanted to show everyone - and especially Jared - that he was capable to be a sword again. He didn’t understand that nobody would think differently of him, even if he decided to never pick up a sword again. Misha tried to explain it, tried to reassure him that he could be anyone he would like to be, but Jensen wouldn’t listen.

His self-worth seemed to be tied to Jared. For whatever reason, he was convinced that Jared thought of him as a useless person, unworthy of his attention before he hadn’t paid back the debt he owed. Megan hung over his conscience, poisoning his thoughts and he couldn’t seem to escape what happened.

It totally surprised Misha, when Jensen stopped his explanations quite suddenly by putting a hand on his arm.

“Misha, can you tell me about love?” He sounded like he never said the word out loud, like it was a very strange and foreign concept. Misha had talked to Christian and Joshua about Jensen’s life with Megan and he wasn’t surprised. Despite all the horrors he had seen, the Sword was strangely innocent.

“Love, Jensen?”

“Yes. I have never seen people who are in love. The soldiers didn’t have time and Megan never had anyone courting her. At least not that I know of. We were always on our way to the next battle.”

It was a difficult question, but the explanation seemed reasonable. Misha just wondered if he was the right person to explain love to someone who never saw it or experienced it. He still could try.

“Love is the best feeling in the world, Jensen. It gives you wings and you fly higher than you could ever imagine. It calms you down and excites you more than you think is possible. It’s like a cool spring on a hot summer day, a fire burning bright in the midst of winter.

“Love is everything and nothing. You can give it your all, but even if you can give nothing, you get something in return. The person you love is always with you, whether they are right by your side or just in your memories.  
Love is… love is everything.”

Jensen looked puzzled and Misha sighed. 

“Look, I can’t explain it to you. It’s different for everyone. But you will know what it feels like as soon as it takes hold in your heart. It can hurt you a lot, but it’s also the best you will ever feel.”

Jensen nodded, a small frown still furrowing his brows. He seemed to contemplate what Misha had told him, but didn’t say anything more. Finally a small smile graced his lips, making his face even more beautiful. The Gods really had given him the rare gift of true beauty. Even the fresh scars on his left cheek couldn't mar it, quite the opposite. It gave his ethereal looks something more humane.

“Thank you, Misha. You are a good friend and an even better healer.”

“Why, you seem to have a silver tongue. It won't help you, though. You still need to take your medicine. Let's get back to your room.”

Misha chuckled at the disgusted look in Jensen's face, but insisted they needed to hurry. Later, when he was alone, he thought about the odd conversation. He’d seen something different in Jensen’s eyes today. It hadn’t been the shadow of war and loss, but something delicate and beautiful.

***

Jensen was nervous. Misha had been called away in the early morning. There was an emergency at the village near Hjemsted that needed immediate attention. The messenger had told them about a huge fire in the woods and injured villagers.

So Jensen was left to his own devices, wandering aimlessly through the keep. He wanted to have some company, but his brothers, Chris and Joshua, were both away, helping to contain the deadly flames. It was still strange to think of Joshua of Ackles, heir to the Ackles kingdom, as his brother. It was unheard of siblings knowing each other. The magic usually prevented a noble to choose their sibling. He didn’t know how exactly it happened but the last time siblings formed a bond had been centuries ago, in another war. Samuel and his Sword Dean were the stuff of many legends.

His steps surely led Jensen to the training grounds of Hjemsted. While Lord Jared refused to take part in the ongoing war, he and his men could often be found in the grounds behind the keep, practicing swordplay among other things. Jensen often came here when Misha was occupied otherwise, watching the men trading friendly blows. The atmosphere was lax, missing the desperation of a real fight, the harshness of knights fighting for the best position. They laughed and joked with each other, something that was foreign to him.

Megan hadn’t allowed him much contact with other people, demanding he gave every waking minute of his attention to her. They had trained together, just the two of them, supervised by different armorers of House Padalecki, the best of their respective kind of weapon. Only when Megan had united her troops with Joshua’s, he was allowed to meet other people. 

Big groups still intimidated Jensen and he was ashamed of himself. He had fought in a war, had faced King Jeffrey himself. Admittedly, he had lost, but he wanted to pride himself that he never had faltered, never had backed down, regardless of his fears. Despite all the horrors he had seen and experienced, a group of four or five man was his undoing. 

Whenever he contemplated to join them, Jensen's heart would beat so fast he had trouble breathing, his hands would get sweaty and his stomach queasy. He envied their easy camaraderie, the ease with which they acted, but he couldn’t make himself get nearer than the farthest edge of the training grounds.

Today Jared had joined his men and he stood out like noone Jensen had ever known. He towered over everyone, the sun catching in his hair, almost painting a halo around his head. His eyes glittered blue and green and brown and just like the first time Jensen had seen Jared of Padalecki, he could see them clearly despite the distance.

Something strange happened to Jensen whenever he saw Jared. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest, his breathing got labored, his hands were slippery and his stomach churned. He almost felt the same when faced with a group of people, but it was different. He didn’t think of those encounters as a bad thing, and he actually craved those haply meetings. He didn’t understand any of this except that meeting Jared left him with the feeling he could walk on clouds if he only tried hard enough.

Jensen didn’t know what it meant and he couldn’t ask anybody. He didn’t think he could explain it, and even if he could, whom should he tell? Christian had been his confidant for many years, before fate separated them. While there was still a strong connection between them, he wasn’t sure he could trust Chris with something this important. 

And Joshua might be his brother in blood, but how could Jensen talk about something so important with someone he didn’t trust? Oh, he trusted his brother in a fight, had relied on his strength many times during the war, but this was something else.

Which left Misha, but Jensen wasn’t sure he could start another awkward discussion. He was still embarrassed from the time he asked about love. Misha had been patient, explaining it to him the best he could, but Jensen still wasn’t sure what love was.

Could it be the strange feeling he got when he saw Jared smile? It was a wonderous thing, that smile. It could make Jensen’s day bright and sunny, even if the rain wouldn’t let off. The deep dimples made his stomach do somersaults. His voice raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck, but in a good way, that made Jensen want more of it.

And so he wandered, more often than not, through the castle, looking for Jared, even if he never dared to address him aside a polite greeting.

He was utterly puzzled, when Jared told his men to stop with their exercises for a moment, before he leaped over the small fence that marked the practicing grounds. Quick steps brought him in front of Jensen, who was mesmerized by the display and slow on the uptake what was happening.

“Jensen.” 

Jared greeted him with a soft smile. For a moment, there was nothing else in his mind than that smile, before a voice insisted he needed to talk to Jared.

“L-lord Jared.”

“Please, Jensen, I told you. Jared is enough. We’re all equals here.”

He nodded in answer, but he couldn’t help wonder if that was really true. He didn’t feel like an equal. Ever since he first saw Jared of Padalecki in the Great Hall, he had felt lower, not good enough. He had thought being the Sword of Megan would help him gain some kind of reputation, would elevate him, if not to the same rank, at least to something similar.

With him being responsible for Megan’s death, he would never be more than a Sword that couldn’t fulfill his purpose. He was broken, so to speak. Jensen tried to return the smile, but the shame and guilt threatened to overwhelm him, right here in front of Jared. 

He must have made a sound, or maybe his face said all the things he couldn’t say, because Jared signalled his men to continue before he turned back to Jensen and grabbed his arm carefully.

“It’s alright, Jensen. If you allow, I’d like to talk to you. Are you interested in a short walk?”

Jensen nodded, unable to do more or to refuse, and slowly they made their way to a small garden he hadn’t visited before. There was a mass of flowers growing here, blue and pink, yellow and white. Lush green bushes and soft grass. It mesmerized Jensen with its beauty, he could barely look his fill. His life hadn’t had many opportunities to enjoy such simple pleasures as looking at flowers.

“Jensen,” Jared began anew. With a bit of regret he turned his back on the flowers. Jared looked strangely vulnerable, something he hadn’t seen before. The Lord of Hjemsted always seemed larger than life.

“I need you to understand that I don’t blame you. Not anymore. I want to be honest. At first, I did blame you. You were Megan’s Sword, you should have protected her.”

Jensen flinched like he’d been slapped. He knew it! He remembered all the dark looks and his own desperation at seeing them and he knew he was to blame. It must have all shown in his face, because Jared hurried to assure him.

“No, listen! I did blame you but that was wrong. Joshua and Christian, they both talked to me. They told me she was unyielding - bullheaded, if you might say so - and that she wouldn’t listen to advice. We weren’t with you when it happened, but by now I can imagine she didn’t give you much of a choice. She told you to meet Captain of Lindbergh and you did, because you were a loyal Sword, someone who listened to her words and fulfilled them the best you could. I can’t blame you for that, Jensen. You need to know, to believe me when I say that I don’t give you any responsibility for her death.”

Jensen saw the sincerity in Jared’s eyes but he couldn’t believe the words. It was everything he ever hoped for, forgiveness from Jared of Padalecki who he had disappointed beyond reason, but it couldn’t be so simple, so easy. The guilt roared inside his head, refusing to let go of his thoughts, and he shook himself, trying to dislodge the lump that suddenly clogged his throat. Something was burning in his eyes and Jensen couldn’t help the tears that slid down his cheeks before he clenched his eyes shut, trying to contain this embarrassing display.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick forgiving me. It was all my fault. Ever since my youth, I am this pathetic excuse for a Sword and no matter how much I learned, how hard I trained, how dedicated to Megan I was, it was never enough. Now she’s dead and I’m alive and she didn’t deserve that.”

“Why would you think that?” Jared’s voice was soft, and most definitely he sounded sad.

“Because it was you who opened my eyes. I saw you, when I sneaked the ceremony two years before mine. I hid in the ceiling beams and watched, even though I knew it was forbidden. I thought no one would find out, but then you looked up and noticed me. And I saw your face, how disgusted you were seeing me intruding in such a holy ceremony. You looked right through me, right at my soul and you hated what you saw.”

Jensen swallowed and furiously wiped his face, trying to contain the tears that wouldn’t stop. His voice almost broke as he went on.

“Years later, when Megan approached me, I thought it was my chance at redemption. If I couldn’t be good enough for Jared of Padalecki, maybe I could be a good Sword for Megan, redeem myself. I tried to be everything she wanted me to be. I tried to be stronger, faster, better than any other Sword. But in the end she still died. I still wasn’t enough!”

A strong arm wound around Jensen’s waist, while another firm hand pressed his head against a shoulder. 

At first, he wanted to rear back at the unexpected contact, but the arms held strong. The words relaxed him slightly and finally Jensen allowed himself to be held by Jared. He never experienced such a nice contact, such soft words before, had never been allowed to let anyone get near him, since Megan didn’t want him to fraternize with anyone. It was the most strangest thing that ever happened to him, but it felt good.

With hesitation he raised his own arm and carefully closed them around Jared’s waist, unsure if it was allowed but certain it wasn’t seemly for a Sword and a noble.

“It’s okay,” Jared whispered into his ear, soft and barely audible. “It’s okay to touch other people and it’s okay to want to be touched. I’m sorry Megan never let you experience this, but you don’t have to close yourself off from other people.

“And I’m sorry you lived all those years thinking that. I remember it all now. I saw you, but you didn’t disgust me. Quite the opposite. You intrigued me and I wanted to find out who you were and why you were hiding up there. But then one of King Jeffrey’s knights made a rude comment about some of your sisters. When I looked up again I couldn’t find you and the ceremony was commencing.  
I wasn’t angry with you, or disgusted, or thought you weren’t good enough to ever join my presence. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Jensen heaved in big gulps of air as the sorrow he felt overwhelmed him again, making the tears run faster and stronger. They didn’t seem to stop but evolved into harsh sobs as Jensen let go everything that plagued his conscience. Through it all Jared held him, petting his hair and back. 

It took long minutes before they parted again. For the first time, Jensen dared to look Jared in the eyes and what he found once more took his breath away. There were so many things he didn’t understand about life and about other people, but the warm expression he found in the hazel depths, told him that he would no longer be alone on his journey.

***

The great hall was a chaos of smells, colors and voices. Soldiers were shouting, children were chasing after dogs, mothers looking for anything that might have been forgotten. It was the day Joshua would begin the long journey back to Ackles hold. 

After Megan’s death, they recevied messages from both the House of Padalecki and Ackles. While Jeffrey was fighting down in the South, the war seemed to be forgotten for the time being. Arrogant as he was, Jeffrey seemed to think now that Megan was dead, Joshua would never be bold enough to try and win on his own.

King Allan of Ackles had seized the opportunity and ordered his son back to Ackles Hold. It was a long time since his men returned to their homeland and he was anxiously waiting to meet his second born son, an opportunity not many parents ever got.

It had taken some convincing, but Jared agreed to follow his parents’ call and go back home. He wasn't sure if he would take his role as the Padalecki heir once again, but he at least wanted to see his mother and father again. 

It would be a long journey, but since Joshua's scouts were convinced King Jeffrey would be occupied for quite some time wrecking war on the Singers and Shurleys, they were sure to make the way unscathed.

Jared looked for Jensen from his position up in the rafters.  
Over the last week they met more often, outside in the fighting grounds where Jensen slowly worked on getting his strength back. His ordeal had drained much of it, but he still had the skill of a seasoned swordsman. It would only take a few training sessions before he would be strong enough to fight again. Not that Jared wanted that for him, but he could see Jensen itched to pick up his sword again. 

Sometimes they met at the highest crenel, watching the sunset, silence stretching between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not anymore, but full of promises. So far they hadn’t done anything about it, hadn’t acted on the growing feelings between them. Jared wasn’t sure what it all meant and Jensen seemed to be just as clueless. It didn’t matter, not to them. They weren’t in a rush.

Ever since James, Jared had never felt like this, and the slow exploration of those feelings, the slow beginning of a relationship was much more exciting than a rushed romance.

Jared had even begun and fixed things with Joshua. It was slow going, small amendments at a time, but he could feel something of the old feelings return, could see the glimpses of friendship. Misha had been right. He had been too wrapped up in his own pain to understand why Joshua had been angry. He promised himself to be a bit more aware of the people around him.

When Jared finally decided to make the journey to his home land, he had asked the Swords at the keep if they wanted to join him. Some of them weren’t ready as of yet and he gladly gave his command to Steve. He promised Jared to continue what had been built over the past years. A safe haven for everyone in need. For Swords who were too afraid to go home, who wanted to mourn their loss but still wanted to live. Hjemsted had been built on the foundations of a broken heart, but now it was a place to heal and to mend what was broken.

Familiar steps climbed the stairs and it didn’t take long before Jared could lock his gaze with emerald green eyes. Jensen was the most beautiful man Jared had ever seen, even if he was very self-conscious about the scars.  
One day Jared would make Christopher pay. He hadn’t told Jensen of this plan, but Jared swore it to himself. And he would make Jeffrey pay. For his sister and for Jensen. Jensen still wouldn’t talk about what happened in the forest. He’d been tortured, that much was clear.

Jensen smiled softly as Jared continued to stare. It wasn’t the same shy smile he gave everyone else, but something special, something that was only for Jared. Sometimes it was almost overwhelming how fast and deep Jared had fallen in love with him. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, not to himself, not to anyone, but Misha’s words rung true in his mind until he couldn’t ignore them any longer. And Jared didn’t want to, not anymore.

Jensen came closer, stopping only when he was at arm’s reach in front of Jared. His breath came in small quick puffs - it was still tiring to him to walk stairs or longer distances. But Jared was proud of him. He had seen men give in to their injuries, refusing to ever be whole again, even if their bodies could be healed. Jensen was a fighter and he would continue to fight until his last breath.

Jared reached out and softly tucked a lock of sandy brown hair behind Jensen’s ear. It was soft, so soft, that it made Jared marvel at the texture. Everything of Jensen was perfect, from the freckles on his nose to the bow legs. Despite being an Ackles he was proudly wearing the Padalecki crest. It made Jared’s heart swell and stole his breath away.

He pulled his hand back, but stopped wide eyed when Jensen gripped it and entwined their fingers, something he had never dared before.

They stood there, above in the rafters, removed from the masses and the excitement of the great hall, and just looked into each other’s eyes.

Love shone deeply in bright emerald, reflected by a multitude of hazel and blue. Jensen's grip was warm, slightly insecure, but a stark contrast to the broken man who had needed to recover from a heavy ordeal. He gave a small tuck and Jared understood.

He stepped forward, letting go of Jensen’s hand in favour of wrapping his arms around him. He was warm and solid in Jared’s arms, a comforting presence he intended to never let go. Jared let Jensen rest his head on his shoulder, just a few moments before he reached for his chin and slowly lifted it up.

A twinkle in Jensen’s eyes and a small nod gave him all the permission he needed. Ever so slowly he leaned down and brushed his lips over Jensen’s, the contact barely there. Soft tingles went from his lips to his heart and took root. Jared intended to leave it at that, but Jensen surprised him by stepping on his toes and searching for a kiss himself. 

It was more intense this time, but still chaste. Jared caressed the outline of Jensen’s mouth, revelled in the soft firmness. They stayed in a tight embrace, and for a moment they hadn’t any care in the world.

It didn’t matter what the future would hold for them, as long as they could stay together, as long as they could travel the road ahead together. 

Someone, whichever of the Gods had seen it fit to do so, once made a prophecy about loss and pain and that love could heal even the most broken things.

**Author's Note:**

> My beta knight_bus_of_doom actually came up with a much better prophecy I'd like to share:
> 
> "When Nobleman heals the shattered Sword  
> A peaceful World shall be Restored  
> For as their Love shines bright as Sun  
> Then Evil dwindles down to None."
> 
> Now I couldn't change it, since Jared was making fun of it, but now you know there are people out there who can actually rhyme and make it sound good. ^^
> 
> And yes, maybe there will be a sequel and maybe I am currently writing it and maybe aggiedoll will do another great artwork (or two or three?) for it.... maybe?!


End file.
